


Eden

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Bard x Thranduil, M/M, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Thranduil, and florist! thranduil, background bagginshield too, because they're like a default ship at this stage if you're going to include both characters, tattoo artist! bard, tattoo/florist au, which is pretty cliche and obvious but we'll move on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3843769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a new tattoo artist in the empty shop down the street and he keeps bumping into Thranduil at the most inopportune moments. But irritation soon turns to confusion when Thranduil begins to question his feelings towards Bard and becomes the talk of the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The initial meeting, ice-breakers, sand-castles and a sore shoulder.

The sun was beginning to set as closing time brought merciful relief to the shops that pinpricked the main street of the village. Tall, brick buildings leaned against each other in the grey and orange, casting long shadows on the pavement. Here and there, doors were being locked and ‘OPEN’ signs were being flipped to ‘CLOSED’ and the last of Friday’s customers were encouraged politely to leave.

   Situated on a corner, next to the watchmaker, was _Greenwood_ , a flower shop famous for its stunning bouquets and arrangements. The owner was said to be a charming man – if a bit quiet and stand-offish – and was well-received at parties because he always gifted the best of his flowers. He didn’t have many friends, but people spread good word about his establishment anyway. 

   Thranduil was collecting the last of the wilting flowers from various containers when the bell at the front of his shop sounded. Bent over some lilies, he looked up to see who was so desperate for flowers at closing time.

   It was a man who had entered, uniquely striking and catching Thranduil off-guard. He was curiously singular in his appearance; tall and humbly built with short dark hair, a scuffed stride and an easy smile. Tattoos coveted every inch of his arms and hands, though many more hid beneath his white t-shirt and jeans.

   “Hi,” he greeted, bouncing on the balls of his feet somewhat sheepishly. “I know you’re closed, but could I quickly buy some flowers? It’s sort of an emergency.”

   Thranduil blinked for a moment, perplexed. Then he nodded, for he wouldn’t dare to turn away a customer. And the explanation was familiar to him. Many people came for Apology Flowers; last minute requests for forgiveness when they had done something to upset someone – usually their significant other.

   However, no one quite so handsome had ever graced Thranduil’s shop before. Maybe it was his pretty tattoos or maybe it was the respectful way he manoeuvred himself around the containers that were usually displayed outside during open hours, but the man unnerved Thranduil somehow. The florist retreated behind the counter skittishly, reluctant to offer any assistance, but guiltily happy to stare and admire.

   “What flowers would you give to someone who is really angry at you for no good reason, but still wants you to kiss their arse?”  the man inquired.

   At being addressed, Thranduil pulled himself out of his reverie and pointed to the containers of orchids by the window on the other side of the store.

   “Those are popular,” he said, grateful for his steady voice but not for his shaking knees. “Tulips also say that… and blue hyacinths. Or roses, if you want to be on the safe side.”

   The man made a thoughtful face, pausing by the hyacinths before traipsing over to the roses and taking out an already bundled dozen from the water.

   “That’ll have to do,” he grumbled.

   He presented them to the counter where Thranduil stood awkwardly, flexing his fingers; a nervous habit.

   “How much are they?”

   “Fifteen.”

   The man swore under his breath and pulled out his wallet. He opened it only to find it empty and so proceeded to search his pockets, finally extricating a crumpled note with some difficulty; his jeans were very tight.

   “I’ve only got ten,” he said miserably, flattening it out pathetically against his leg. “Do you accept card?”

    “Ten is fine,” Thranduil interjected breathlessly.

   He wanted this guy out of his shop before he lost his composure completely. He took the money from ink-stained fingers and stuffed it into the register before there was time to argue.

   “Can I have it wrapped?” came the next request, courteous and a little shy.

   “Oh!”

   Feeling foolish and decidedly hot, Thranduil hastily retrieved some paper from the drawers below the register and wrapped the roses neatly, his fingers working dextrously regardless of their tremor. He handed them to the man with a forced smile and went to wave him out of his store and hopefully out of his life – but it seemed Thranduil was not to be flustered by this stranger just once.

   “I’m Bard, by the way. I own the new tattoo parlour down the street.”

   “Oh,” was all Thranduil gave in response, having not even known there had been an empty shop nearby. He typically never made it past the café a few doors away. He had an anxious rule about meeting new people and it was that he didn’t like to.

   Bard was waiting for a proper reply, but when it became clear to him that one pitiful syllable was all he would receive, he admitted defeat and made at last to leave.

   “Well, uh, thanks!” he farewelled.

   He hitched the flowers into the crook of his arm and left the store, finally allowing Thranduil to breathe properly again. He ran over to the door and locked it, just to be safe, wondering if he would ever be able to recover from such a wretched first impression. He wanted to hope so, but it looked as though Bard had been on his way to apologize to a beautiful girl with some of Thranduil’s nice roses, so it probably didn’t matter.

   Though, his reasoning hadn’t indicated quite as such.

   Thranduil threw off the idea. He had learned long ago to stop making assumptions about people; especially involving their relationships.

   He finished closing, drawing the blinds and shutting off the lights. Carrying the selection of flowers that he hadn’t had the heart to throw out, Thranduil went upstairs to his flat above the shop. He lived there with Haldir, his best friend and employee, and Legolas, who was three years-old. He was watching a cartoon, his little feet wiggling off the edge of the sofa. Just to be annoying, Thranduil went over and blew a raspberry on his son’s cheek by way of a hello.

   He arranged the flowers on counter of the adjoining kitchen and began cutting the stems, placing them into an empty vase and feeling the heaviness of another long day hit him in a bout of lethargy.

   Haldir emerged from the bathroom a few seconds later, shuffling into the kitchen without greeting and pilfering the pantry for some food, but finding nothing of interest. He heaved himself up on the counter next to the vase and helped Thranduil by picking off the leaves, humming contentedly.

   “There’s a new tattoo parlour down the street,” Thranduil remarked conversationally.

   “I know, the owner is really cute,” Haldir returned, his face lighting up.

   “You’ve met already?” Thranduil tried not to sound disappointed.

   “He did the rounds on Wednesday when you weren’t there. Did you get a good look at his tattoos? His sleeves made me absolutely swoon.”

   “Please don’t flirt with him.”

   Haldir pouted. “But he was _nice,_ Thran. And how often does a fit, well-spoken guy with tattoos show up in a neighbourhood as tragic as this one? Honestly, I’ll be amazed if he gets business. I wonder if he’s any good.”

   “Well, if you insist on flirting with him, the very least you can do is get free tattoos and find out,” Thranduil encouraged, though with no real conviction.

   “He’s probably taken anyway. And guys like that are always _straight_.” He said this with vehemence, sighing wistfully. “He probably has a leggy girlfriend with an undercut and cat-eye specs.”

   Thranduil couldn’t argue this comment when the subject of the conversation had just been in his store buying flowers. Looking at the bigger picture, he was just as sceptical as his flatmate.

   Something pulled at the hem of his trousers then, and Legolas was at his feet, looking up at his father.

   “I’m hungry,” he said importantly.

   “Dinner will be ready soon, but you can have some fruit?” Thranduil suggested almost hopefully, because even when there was nothing else, little could persuade Legolas to eat fruit.

   “What’s for dinner?” Haldir asked, grinning cheekily.

   “I don’t know; what are you making?” Thranduil teased.

   They bickered good-naturedly for a moment over who would cook that afternoon until Thranduil gave in, preferring his food over Haldir’s barely passable slop anyway. He chopped an apple for Legolas to occupy himself with and then threw together some fried rice with tofu and the remaining vegetables he found in the fridge. Haldir made himself ‘useful’ and set the flowers on the coffee table.

   “I wonder if Bard is a vegetarian. He gives off a carnivorous impression, don’t you think?” he pondered over dinner.

   Thranduil didn’t feel like talking about Bard anymore and made a noncommittal sort of noise. The rest of the meal was met with silence, occasionally broken by Legolas’ one-sided and sometimes unintelligible dialogue and firm protestations towards certain vegetables. Thranduil patiently picked out any snow peas and cauliflower and then left his son to struggle through the remnants of his rice, complaining to his heart’s content and receiving no sympathy for it.

   “Okay, bath-time.”

   “NO!”

   Legolas normally would have made a run for it, but his high-chair prevented any escape. Thranduil picked him up and carried him kicking and wailing all the way to the bath tub, at which point he was dropped in some soapy water and became immediately satisfied with the situation, gurgling and swimming a doll through the water peacefully.

   Haldir poked his head through the door a moment later, handing Thranduil a cup of tea.

   “Your dad called again,” he put forward warily, his expression gentle. “I said you were out of town for a few days and didn’t have a mobile phone on you.”

   Thranduil sank to the floor miserably, rubbing his face. It was the sixth time in two weeks that his father had called and Thranduil and Haldir were running out of excuses to give him after blocking his number on both their mobile phones. After three years of pitiful contact, Thranduil decided he couldn’t care less what his father might have to say to him.

   “You should call him back, Thran. It could be important.”

   Thranduil snorted derisively and Haldir left.

   After Legolas was bathed, read to and put to bed, Thranduil went to the balcony where Haldir was watering the plants that lived there. They stretched and grew and climbed over the railing down to the rooftop and the entrance of the shop below. Thranduil poured water on the rosemary lazily.

   “I’ve got an appointment tomorrow,” he explained. “Will you be okay to manage the shop?”

   “Yeah, I think so. Except, we still have that bridal order to fill. The woman is coming in after noon to pick it up and I don’t know what to do."

   “I’ll put it together before I leave. The appointment isn’t until eleven o’clock,” Thranduil said. “And don’t forget Legolas’ nap at twelve.”

 

 

   “So, other than that, you’ve no other problems you want to discuss?”

   Thranduil shook his head, wincing slightly as the doctor removed the needle in his arm. He shuddered, never able to grow accustomed to the feeling of having his blood taken. Galadriel was always gentle, however, and he had on good authority that her cotton wool was softer than other practitioner’s.  

   “Growth in hands and feet is normal. It’s common even to go up a shoe size,” she said, setting the vial of blood aside and taping her soft cotton wool over the little incision in Thranduil’s arm.

   He looked down and wiggled his toes thoughtfully. Perhaps it was time he found an excuse to buy new shoes, even if that meant bigger feet.

   “Can you lift your shirt please? I want to see how your scars are healing,” Galadriel requested then.

   Thranduil obeyed, pulling off his t-shirt. His skin prickled at the sudden chill.

   “It doesn’t look much different,” he said.

   Galadriel peered as his torso with interest for a second and then returned to her computer. He liked that she did not hover over his scars or his troubles, both of which he had plenty of.

   “The healing process will continue to be slow, but eventually you’ll hardly even notice that there are scars at all,” Galadriel said.

   Thranduil gave no reply and put his shirt back on, shivering.

   “How’s Legolas?” was the next question.

   “Good. Growing fast.”

   “I don’t mean to be impertinent, but what do you tell him?” Galadriel wondered. She was speaking off the record now.

   “About what?”

   “About his mother. He doesn’t ask why he doesn’t have one?” her expression was polite, but curious.

   “He asked a few months ago,” said Thranduil sadly. “I told him she just had to leave. I’ll tell him the truth when he’s old enough to understand.”

   Galadriel dismissed him with a tight hug when the session was over and Thranduil paid for the appointment at reception before leaving, rubbing his arm where it was tender from the needle. He hoped the results did not return with bad news, though they never had before. He made a mental note to have some flowers delivered to Galadriel to thank her, because sometimes words just weren’t enough.

   Upon checking the timetables, Thranduil decided it was better to walk back home rather than wait for the next bus. He put headphones in his ears, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and slunk his long body back to the flower shop.

   On his way there, he made a stop at the café. Feren, the owner, greeted him enthusiastically and took his usual order, as well as a cappuccino for Haldir.

   “Have you met the new tattooist yet?” Feren observed, raising an eyebrow smugly. “He comes in every day for coffee. I feel like offering him a loyalty card; buy nine coffees and the tenth is a free dinner.”

   Thranduil did the gag-me-with-a-spoon gesture and paid for the drinks with the loose change in his pockets. He didn’t like all the gossip surrounding this new tattoo artist. He was just another neighbour to the other businesses that lined the street. Sure, he was gorgeous, but not so wonderful as to become a topic for shop-to-shop gossip, after all…

   Thranduil turned around to leave and hopefully spend the rest of his day _not_ thinking about Bard like everyone else when he walked straight into him, spilling coffee all over them.

   “Aaaah!”

   “Fuck!”

   Bard laughed unsteadily as they broke apart, his arms raised away from his ruined t-shirt.

   Thranduil’s face burned with humiliation and he set the half-empty drinks on the nearest table, shaking his wet hands. Behind him, he could hear Feren almost sobbing with laughter before grabbing a roll of paper towel from behind the counter and cleaning up the mess. His grin was so wide it threatened to split his face in two. Thranduil offered him a scowl and took some of the paper to soak up the coffee from his own clothes. He tossed his hair behind his shoulders out of the way, but it was already wet.

   “I’m sorry,” he murmured to Bard, not meeting his gaze.

   “It’s okay! Accidents happen,” he rumbled good-naturedly.

   Thranduil returned his smile weakly, but only felt worse for it.

   “Do you want replacements?” Feren asked, standing up with handfuls of wet paper. “I won’t charge you.” He looked ready to laugh again. It seemed such entertainment was worth two free coffees.

   Thranduil shot him a dirty look, but accepted.

   “Can I get a flat white while you’re at it, Feren?” Bard called out, flourishing his shirt uncomfortably as it tried to settle against his body.

   “I’ll pay for it,” Thranduil supplied quickly. It was the least he could do.

   Bard smirked lightly, his expression calculating.

   “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I will accept a clean shirt to borrow, though, if you have one.”

   Thranduil nodded, swallowing his nerves.

   Bard paid for his coffee and Thranduil took his free ones and they exited the café together, walking in uneasy silence. The wind pressed against their clothes and made them stick against their skin. Thranduil tried not to tremble. The sun had disappeared behind some clouds and it was cold again.

   “You never told me your name,” said Bard after a moment.

   “Thranduil.”

   This was followed by more silence and they arrived at the flower shop, grateful for its lack of draft. Thankfully, there were no customers and Thranduil vanished upstairs, leaving Bard in Haldir’s unfortunately flirtatious company.

   After cleaning himself up, Thranduil pulled on a new t-shirt and grabbed another one for Bard, trying to steady his quivering hands. He knotted his hair on top of his head and then pelted back downstairs to rescue Bard from Haldir.

   But it was not Haldir he had to worry about.

   Legolas was still awake and had found Bard to be a particularly intriguing recipient for his endless chatter and questions. Bard was crouched down, showing the toddler the tattoos on his arms, grinning hugely.

   Thranduil froze at the foot of the stairs, his heart seizing in his chest.

   “Why isn’t Legolas asleep?” he hissed to Haldir, who was watching from behind the counter with an endearing look on his face. He jumped at being spoken too.

   “He wouldn’t settle down,” he protested. “He’s getting too old for such an early nap.”

   Thranduil whined uselessly and went over to where his son was talking animatedly to Bard, asking what _sounded_ like very important questions, but likely weren’t very important at all. It was rare for Legolas to interact with strangers, but Thranduil supposed when you were as attractive as Bard and resembled a walking art gallery, it was hard for even the most timid of children to not be inquisitive.

   “Legolas, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Thranduil suggested firmly, interrupting the conversation.

   Bard got to his feet at his approach, a smile still plastered on his face. He was handsome when he smiled. It made Thranduil’s stomach twist strangely. He bent down and hitched Legolas onto his hip with what he pretended wasn’t a considerable amount of effort; the toddler was getting heavy.

   “This is Bard. He does tattoos,” he introduced.

   “Bard is cool, Ada. Can he give me a tattoo?” Legolas asked urgently.

   “Maybe when you’re older,” Thranduil replied, exchanging amused expressions with Bard.

   “How much older?”

   “Much, _much_ older,”

   Legolas was put back on his feet and he stampeded over to Haldir behind the counter.

   “Haldir! Haldir! Do you have a tattoo?”

   “Sure do, kiddo. Haven’t you seen my space man?”

   “Here you go,” Thranduil said, handing over the t-shirt. “Sorry for getting coffee all over you.”

   “It’s fine,” Bard returned, giving his paper cup to Thranduil who took it without question.

   Then, Bard tugged off his coffee-stained shirt and got changed right in the middle of the store.

   Thranduil clenched his teeth and forced himself not to look away, as he was warranted to do when any person got undressed in front of him. Peculiarly, Bard had no tattoos on his torso. The sleeves ended at his shoulders, but indicated a substantial back piece.

   “Doesn’t Legolas go to day care?” Bard continued, his voice slightly muffled through the fabric.

   Thranduil opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again, troubled. He realised sending Legolas to day care was probably more reasonable than keeping him frolicking among a flower shop, but Thranduil didn’t think he could bear to part with his son for even a day. With either Haldir or Thranduil always around, it meant Legolas could stay at home, which was something of a convenience, and it saved money.

   “No,” Thranduil answered warily, returning the cup. “We live upstairs, so it’s sort of easier this way.”

   “Oh, I see.” Bard cast his gaze up to the ceiling as though he might see through it to the flat above. Thranduil caught a peak at a small tattoo behind his ear, but looked away quickly when Bard’s eyes returned to him.

   “Well, I’d better get going; I have a monster piece to finish today. I’ll see you around?”

   Thranduil managed a curt nod and Bard waved goodbye, taking Thranduil’s t-shirt as an excuse to come back.

    “That was amazing!” Haldir shouted delightedly once he was gone.

   Thranduil crinkled his nose irritably and stretched himself across the counter, dangling his arms over the edge. He groaned until he ran out of the breath.

   “That was _embarrassing_ ,” he amended.

   “You spilled coffee on him; that’s like the beginning of a romantic-comedy!” Haldir declared as-a-matter-of-fact.

   Thranduil straightened up, rolling his eyes.

   “You should chase that, Thran. He’s pretty cute.”

   “There is no chance he’s single; you said so yourself. And, even if he was, he’s only going to be disappointed when he finds out about me.”

   “That you’re an annoying walnut with terrible taste in shoes?” Haldir provided.

   Thranduil made a rude hand gesture and went upstairs, leaving Haldir to tend the shop. He felt lethargic now, the appointment at the doctor and the incident with the coffee taking its toll on him already. Being around other people wearied him easily.

   Legolas tottered after him and they fell asleep on the sofa together. Thranduil tried not to think about Bard and the implications that came with potentially being friends, or even more than that, should the opportunity present itself. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be friends, but that he was afraid to have the smallest taste of companionship again only for it to be pried from his fingers before he had a chance to properly have it at all.

  

   On Sundays, the shop was closed. Haldir took the day to see a friend and do the grocery shopping. Thranduil gave him a list of things of buy and then took Legolas to the park, eager to go out of doors and embrace the last of summer’s sunshine. Autumn was turning the leaves orange; trees glowed about the neighbourhood like a burning sunrise. The weather was still warm, but it would not last for much longer; the chill that came with the change in the seasons was fast approaching.

   Legolas was hardly tolerable, jumping on his little legs and making it difficult for Thranduil to put on his shoes. After the usual fuss over which clothes to wear, they left just before noon. Thranduil was tempted to put his son on a leash at the rate he bee-lined for the park. He kept a firm grip on the boy’s hand when he could, but his towering height did not make it easy. He couldn’t wait until Legolas was sensible enough not to run onto the roads without thinking. 

   Many of the townspeople had also come to the park to enjoy what little good weather there was left to appreciate, basking on blankets in the grass and letting their dogs roam freely among the trees. A few children dotted the playground, their shrieks and high-pitched laughter able to be heard from down the street. Legolas ran over to the swings, climbing onto one and demanding to be pushed.

   For a while, the adventure at the park was relaxing. Legolas went where his fancy took him, his father following in his wake when bid, milling about like all the other parents that were there. Thranduil admittedly liked playing games with Legolas, however trivial or silly they were, for it was far better than the mind-numbing conversations he had with adults.

   He was briefly kept company by Glóin, who owned a pizza restaurant called _The Tinderbox._ With him was his own son, Gimli, unmistakable with flaming orange hair and a round, freckled face. He went over to where Legolas was playing in the sandpit and Thranduil dropped himself in the seat next to Glóin, exchanging some small talk. He didn’t dislike the man, but found him slightly unpleasant and short-tempered, and so kept his distance where he could.

   Thranduil was given the chance to excuse himself, however, when Legolas insisted he come and make a sand castle. Thranduil obeyed, as always, and sat himself on the edge of the sandpit. He took off his shoes and dug his toes into the sand, at which point Legolas proceeded to build the castle on top of his feet.

   “Hey!”

   Bard approached, smiling widely down at Thranduil, who wished it was not just his feet that were buried, but the rest of him as well. It seemed he couldn’t escape this guy.

   He was wearing Thranduil’s t-shirt. It hung slightly loose across his shoulders as it was a size too big for him. Thranduil went red at the sight of it, wondering if he could all but die of shame.

   “I thought I was making a smart move bringing my kids to the park, but it seems the entire town has shown up here,” Bard said.

   Thranduil's heart skipped a beat desolately.

   “You’ve got kids?” he posed.

   “Three,” replied Bard with an affectionate grimace. “My youngest is Tilda, who is – uh – nowhere to be found, it seems. Then Sigrid, who is over there by the swings, and Bain there on the slide; he’s my eldest,”

   Thranduil inclined his head to the various directions Bard pointed, his stomach twisting oddly. He hadn’t expected Bard to be a father. Attached, surely, but not to such an extent as to have children. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem like the type, but Thranduil had just assumed him to be too young for family. This was deeply ironic, though, for he was probably older than Thranduil.

   “Oh! There’s Tilda,”

   Thranduil looked ahead to see a small girl skipping towards them. She was about Legolas’ age and had wild, curly blonde hair and a pair of thick-framed glasses perched on her nose. They magnified her eyes so much that her stare at Thranduil made her look like a bug.

   “Hello,” she squeaked. Her accent was from London, which confused Thranduil as Bard sounded like he originated from Wales.

   “Tilda, this is Thranduil,” he said.

   “Are you a boy or a girl?”

   “Tilda!”

   “It’s fine; I get it all the time,” Thranduil said before Bard could scold his daughter for such impertinence. “I’m a boy.”

   “Then why is your hair so long?” Tilda insisted.

   “Who’s to say it must be short?” Thranduil countered smartly, flashing a rare grin.

   She found this reasoning to be quite sound and so turned to her father, requesting his urgent attention by tugging the leg of his jeans. Bard peered down at her like she was the moon and he was but a tiny star.

   “Can you push me on the swing, please?” she said sweetly.

   Bard gave her a glowing smile and said yes. He nodded to Thranduil and went with her to the swings, leaving the other man to the peril of Legolas’ rather impressive sandcastle.

   “How am I going to get out?” Thranduil queried, genuinely interested.

   “Gimli will be a dragon and you have to fight him,” Legolas clarified simply, packing on some more sand.

   “What if he defeats me?”

   “All the people die.”

   Grim.

   “And if I win?”

   “We get ice cream.”

   Thranduil decided this was a fair trade. When Gimli the Dragon was deemed defeated, Legolas said goodbye to his friend and went with his father to the ice cream parlour right before it shut for the day. Thranduil only agreed to these terms because it avoided any more conversations with Bard. The last thing he needed was to fall for a taken father of three. He was so far out of his depth he was already forgetting what the shallow end felt like.

   Haldir was home unloading the groceries when Thranduil and Legolas returned.

   “Did you buy _anything_ on my list?” Thranduil moaned, searching the bags.

   “Sure, I bought the almond milk,” Haldir said, taking it out pointedly.

   “That’s because everyone drinks it.”

   Disgruntled, Thranduil decided to go the store himself, seeing as he had nothing better to do and had forgotten to write down some things on his evidently pointless list. He stuffed his feet back into his shoes and, taking some money from the safe downstairs, he ran to catch the next bus.

   The grocery store was on the main road where the bigger, more industrial-looking houses were. Thranduil wandered the aisles with a shopping basket, throwing in various things he needed, like oats, apple juice, face wash and a new packet of hair-ties.

   He headed toward the aisle where the crisps and biscuits were kept, checking things off the list in his hand. He looked up just in time to collide into a solid something, throwing out his shoulder from the sudden pressure on the basket.

   “I’m sorry!”

   “That’s oka – oh, hello again,”

   “For fu – I mean - hi,” Thranduil said breathlessly, spotting children out the corner of his eye just in time to catch his profanity.

   Bard’s face looked very smug.

   “Three times in two days,” he pondered, amused. “I’m not stalking you, I swear.”

   Thranduil managed a pathetic smile at this, unsure of what to say. What could he say? That this was ridiculous? That he would very much like to stop running into Bard and embarrassing himself every step of the way? That he would greatly appreciate his t-shirt back along with what remained of his dignity?

   Bard's kids peered up at Thranduil curiously from behind their father. The two eldest looked old enough to be in primary school, which made Thranduil wonder how old Bard actually was. He couldn't be passed his mid-20's.

   “Hey, what are you doing on Friday night?” he said, interrupting Thranduil's thoughts.

   “Er –” Thranduil could not think of an excuse fast enough.

   “I’m showcasing some of my work with other artists at the _Imladris_. I’m trying to help my friends get a bit of fame and I’m inviting everyone in town; you should come.”

   “Oh, I – uh – well -” Thranduil stammered, his heart racing.

   “Here, do you have a phone number? I’ll text you the details,” Bard pulled out a mobile phone, which looked new and expensive.

   Thranduil provided his number, his mind reeling as he failed again and again to try and offer an excuse. After Bard said goodbye at the request of his nagging children, Thranduil concluded that there was time still to think of a reason not to go, though he admittedly did want to. He watched Bard’s retreating back with a vague sense of longing, feeling very lost and very intimidated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exes, disinterest, a kitten, and a new friend

“You will not believe what just happened,” Thranduil said when he came home, slamming the back door shut behind him. He threw his keys into the bowl with a _clink_ and rubbed his shoulder where it still hurt from knocking into Bard.

   “I just lost to a three year-old so I’ll be stumped if it’s more unbelievable than that,” Haldir moaned from the floor of the lounge room, staring down forlornly at a snakes-and-ladders board. In front of him Legolas was looking extremely proud.

   “I ran into Bard at the store. He invited me to an art show on Friday at the _Imladris_ ,” Thranduil continued, dumping his shopping on the kitchen counter and pouring himself some juice. He realised he was shaking slightly.

   “Ha! Let me guess; you’re not going?” Haldir assumed cynically.

   “No way.”

   Haldir stood from the floor and met Thranduil at the round dining table, leaning across it seriously. Thranduil’s legs bounced nervously underneath it; he knew what his friend was going to say, and for once it wasn’t going to be about Bard.

   “I think it’s time you faced him,” Haldir said. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

   “Why not? I’ve done a pretty good job so far,” Thranduil retorted.

   “Because it isn’t healthy. You’re always running away from people, Thranduil. I know you’ve been treated like shit, but running from your past only means it’s going to catch up with you when you run out of breath.”

   “I know what I’m doing,” Thranduil growled furiously.

   “Do you really?”

   Nothing useful came to mind when he went to defend himself. Haldir was right, of course, but Thranduil wouldn’t dare admit it. He was perfectly comfortable avoiding people and prepared to continue to doing so, even if it meant missing out on events and opportunities. Perhaps his past would come back to haunt him, and perhaps even now it was ghosting the phone calls from his father, but Thranduil was adamant in his decision to ignore everything that had happened before Legolas was born; before he hit rock bottom and had to pull himself out of the dirt.

   “Well, I think it’s a good chance to at least try and get in with Bard. There’s an opportunity for something solid there; he seems to have a good character,” Haldir pondered instead, attempting to lighten the mood.

   It was to no avail, however, for once Thranduil was put in a foul temper it was very difficult to get him out of it. He leaned against the back of the chair moodily, running a finger around the rim of his glass.

   “He’s got three kids,” he muttered sourly.

   “You’ve got a kid,” Haldir pointed out patiently, indicating Legolas who was now scribbling briskly on a piece of paper at the coffee table.

   “Legolas is different.”

   “How?”

   “You know exactly how,” Thranduil concluded. He stood, deciding he’d had enough of the conversation.

   “Single fathers aren’t such a rarity these days, you know,” Haldir said, trying to recover Thranduil’s composure. “Bard could have adopted or be divorced. There’s every chance he’s available.”

   “So what if he is? I’m not interested!”

   Thranduil’s anger boiled. He didn’t want to raise his voice, but it was becoming a difficulty not to. Haldir was touching on a sensitive subject and he knew it.

   “What is so great about Bard? Why are you so determined to set me up with him? Do I look so desperate and pathetic that you feel the need to play matchmaker with the first attractive guy that moves into the neighbourhood?”

   “I am just trying to help! I am not going to stand by and watch while you tuck tail and cower from affection like you have done these past three years! There has never been a chance for anyone to actually get to know you because as soon as they introduce themselves you perceive them as a threat. You can’t keep denying yourself company just because one arsehole broke your heart.” Haldir remained seated, keeping his tone even, which irritated Thranduil all the more.

   “I’m not denying myself anything,” he insisted. “ _I’m just not interested_.”

   At this, he retreated downstairs to the shop and out the back door to the courtyard, fuming. He didn’t appreciate Haldir’s presumptions or meddling, despite the good intentions he seemed to harbour. What was it to him anyway if Thranduil never found someone else? If anything, it would be an inconvenience to Haldir as he would then have to search for a new place to live.

   Thranduil spent some time in the courtyard seething and holding back tears and kicking the walls at intervals. He watered some plants and trimmed others and when he had sufficiently calmed down, he went back upstairs. Haldir was on the sofa with Legolas, watching cartoons with very unsubtle enthusiasm. He was more of a child than the toddler, really, but this was not something Thranduil would dare say out loud.

   He sat, still angry, but less frustrated. He reached over and took a handful of popcorn from the bowl in the Legolas’ lap, which was dangerously close to falling to the floor. Thranduil shifted it closer to Legolas’ stomach, just in case.

   “I’m sorry,” Haldir said, exhaling. “I didn’t mean to close in on you like that.”

   Thranduil sighed and leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder, staring blankly at the television.

    “I probably shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” he admitted. “I’m just tired of people placing expectations on me.”

   “It was more of a suggestion than an expectation,” Haldir protested gently.

   “Felt more like bullying, actually.”

   Haldir shrugged, jostling Thranduil. “I just want to make sure you’re not lonely,” he said.

   “I’ve got you, Haldir; I couldn’t possibly be lonely. In fact, I find it hard to even be _alone_ with you always around,” Thranduil said.

   “Alone and lonely are two completely different things, you know that. And besides, what happens if I leave? It was never my intention to stay here forever, you know.”

   “Pfft. You said that two years ago and you’re still here.”

   “That sounds like a threat,” Haldir commented.

   Thranduil looked up at him, grinning. “You’re stuck with me,” he said.

   “Well that means I get rights to hook you up with people, especially when ‘people’ concerns the fit tattoo artist down the street.”

   “No! I don’t want anyone,” Thranduil whined, slouching down the sofa with resignation.

   “Why not?” Haldir was being careful not to flare another argument. “I’m genuinely curious. You’ve met so many wonderful people since Elrond, yet none of them have taken your fancy.”

   “Geez, I don’t know,” Thranduil groaned. “They were all after a nice coffee and – and – well, you know what – I’m not interested in that.”

   “Not even a little bit? A few of them looked keen for something with more commitment,” Haldir said.

   Thranduil huffed and added, “That’s what happened with Elrond. I wasn’t really that interested in him when we first met. But, after a few dates, I just fell way too hard and then everything went downhill.”

   Haldir gasped, covering Legolas’ ears in mock dismay. “Don’t call your son a _downhill!_ ” he hissed.

   Legolas fought his hands, annoyed that he couldn’t hear the television. Thranduil rolled his eyes and reached over to get more popcorn. He knocked the bowl, however, and it fell to the floor. Legolas turned to his father and gave him a very sore glare.

   “This is why we can’t have nice things,” he said testily, which made Haldir howl with laughter.

  

The delivery came on Monday morning, like it did every second day. Tauriel pulled up in her truck at eight o’clock, letting herself into the shop with coffee. Thranduil drank his gratefully while he helped with moving empty containers to her truck and replacing them with ones full of fresh flowers.

   “I heard there’s a hot new tattoo artist in the neighbourhood,” she said, handing Thranduil pots of various _Algaonema_ to display in the window.

   He groaned belligerently, smacking a pot down on the shelf pointedly.

   “The entire town is talking about him,” he said. “He’s very good-looking and very nice and I wish people would shut up about him.”

   “Shut up about who?”

   A familiar voice cut through the conversation, deep and penetrating in contrast to Tauriel soft, sharp tone. Thranduil stiffened, his heart quickening.

   He turned around to see Bard standing in the doorway of the florist, looking very amused. He was wearing a leather jacket and had a pair of glasses perched on his head, resting among the dark tresses. His hair looked very soft.

   “Nobody,” Thranduil recovered poorly, watching Tauriel disappear into the back of her truck. “Hi.”

   “Hey,” Bard returned coolly. “I came to give you this. It’s an invitation for the showcase on Friday.”

   Thranduil took the piece of paper that had been neatly printed with details concerning the event. It was even addressed to him – name spelled correctly and all.

   “I thought you were going to text me,” he observed thinly.

   It was Bard’s turn to be flustered now, which surprised Thranduil. He grinned sheepishly, bouncing on his toes the way he had done when they had first met, which was admittedly kind of cute, but Thranduil didn’t branch out on this thought. He wondered instead if the quick exchange in the grocery store had been a ploy to obtain his number. Did people do that sort of thing? He made a mental note to ask Haldir later.

   “Sigrid broke my phone,” Bard confessed hastily, though Thranduil saw it for the blatant lie that it was. “Kids, you know.”

   “Sure,” said Thranduil dismissively, tucking the invitation into his back pocket. “Well, thank you. I’m quite busy this week, but I’ll try and make it.”

   “Oh, okay. I hope you can.” Bard sounded slightly disappointed, as though he knew an excuse when he heard one.

   Thranduil tried not to feel guilty for it. He offered Bard his most genuine smile, but it didn’t seem to alleviate the false hope that he had mistakenly allowed to hover. Thranduil wanted to go to the showcase very much, but having it hosted at Elrond’s establishment was something of a problem for him. He had successfully avoided Elrond for almost three years; he wasn’t about to throw that all away for the sake of one guy, no matter how cute he was. Thranduil wasn’t interested enough and that was all it took for him to persist his refusal.

   “I’m guessing that was him?” Tauriel said after Bard left, departing with a little wave.

   She handed Thranduil the last of the pot plants and he set them out in the window, nodding.

   “I’ll be with the majority, then,” she concluded. “He’s really attractive.”

   Thranduil shrugged in reply, wanting to rid himself of the conversation. He thanked Tauriel for the flowers and the coffee and saw her off as she drove to her next delivery. Then, Thranduil ran upstairs and kicked Haldir awake.

   “What does it mean when someone asks for your number, but then doesn’t use it for the reason they said they would?” he asked the tuft of blond hair visible to him.

   “What?” came a muffled voice from beneath the heap of blankets on the bed.

   “Bard asked for my number so he could text me the details about the showcase, but he just came by to give me an invitation. Does that mean anything?” Thranduil clarified. He went over to the window and ripped open the curtains, letting in the cold morning sun.

   Haldir sat up at this, mouth open with astonishment.

   “It means he likes you!” he cried, throwing back the covers. He ran over to the window where Thranduil stood and shook his shoulders. “It means he likes you!”

   “But we just met!” Thranduil protested.

   “Oh, Thranduil, please. How long was it after you met Elrond that you started dating?”

   “Months,” said Thranduil exasperatedly. “And even then, I wouldn’t call it dating. That whole thing was a mess from start to finish.”

   “So you won’t even try with this guy?” Haldir’s eyebrows knitted together sadly.

   Thranduil shook his head. “ _Not. Interested._ Even if I was, it wouldn’t last.”

   “Here we go.”

   “No, Haldir, I’m serious. It’s going to be exactly like last time, only worse. I owe it to myself not to go through that again. You know why I didn’t consider all those other people regardless of interest.”

   “I thought you were the one who always said we shouldn’t judge people’s characters so quickly?” Haldir argued. “Bard doesn’t really seem like that type to do what Elrond did.”

   Thranduil said nothing. Haldir was probably right, but he was still cautious; still afraid. Perhaps if he was interested in Bard, he would feel differently, but as things stood, he wasn’t going to take any risks. What he had right now was good and that was enough.

   “I regret asking you anything,” he said. “I have a shop to open and you have a lecture to go to.”

   Haldir moaned and fell back into bed. Thranduil left the room without closing the door and went to wake up Legolas. He got the toddler dressed and fed and then took him downstairs to open the shop. Legolas brought paper and pencils to draw on in the small storeroom behind the counter. He sat at a little table and worked quietly.

   Haldir ran out the door thirty minutes after, late for his bus. Even for a philosophy student, he sure did know how to effectively use the concept of ‘Why?’

   Thranduil spent the morning setting up a new display for the cacti Tauriel had brought in and thinking about the showcase. He wondered if Elrond would even attend. For such a small event, it was unlikely he would, though this wasn’t enough to convince Thranduil to go.

   He decided to shake the idea completely. It was just a tiny art show – he could go to the gallery in the city whenever he wanted. And it would not be fair on Haldir to babysit Legolas on a Friday night. No, it was better not to attend.

   Haldir returned from university sometime after noon. He entered through the front of the shop, and a small black something entered with him.

   It sped through the store, blurring among the flowers and tables before disappearing upstairs.

   “Was that a cat?” Haldir said, startled.

   The bell at the door sounded again and Bard was there, panting.

   “Did a cat just come in here?” he asked breathlessly.

   “It went upstairs,” Haldir returned, looking even more surprised.

   Bard cursed under his breath and followed Haldir’s pointing finger to the staircase, essentially letting himself into Thranduil’s flat, which made the owner of it only slightly uncomfortable until he remembered what he had left on the kitchen table, and suddenly he was petrified.

   Thranduil sprinted upstairs, his heart rampaging with fear. He would be ruined if Bard discovered his secret.

   He found Bard in the kitchen – exactly where he shouldn’t be – rescuing a tiny black kitten from jumping off the windowsill and onto the balcony. It squirmed in his arms, looking very distraught. Quite possibly as distraught as Thranduil when he watched Bard catch something in the corner of his eye and look down at the counter where a packet of syringes had been carelessly tossed next to a vial of clear liquid.

   Bard’s face twisted with curiosity. He didn’t touch the bottle, but Thranduil could see that he was able to read the label, which had printed _Testosterone phenylpropionate_ on it in bold lettering _._

    Frozen in horror, Thranduil found he couldn’t speak. He had nothing to offer as an excuse except perhaps a very sarcastic ‘surprise,’ though he didn’t think it would be appropriate. And there was no telling if Bard would even know what the testosterone was for

   But he did. He stared at Thranduil, eyes calculating and wandering. Thranduil felt very self-conscious beneath his gaze, wishing the floorboards would swallow him up, but he stood his ground, trying his best to be firm.

   “Sorry,” Bard blurted out, tightening his grip on the kitten, which was beginning to cry. “I didn’t mean to – that is – I wasn’t trying to –”

    “If you’re done staring, you can leave,” Thranduil said calmly, though his heart shook and shuddered with fear.

   Bard’s expression was indecipherable. He adjusted the position of the kitten in his hands and shuffled awkwardly out of the kitchen and down the stairs, not looking at Thranduil as he passed him. Thranduil waited until his footsteps left the stairs before collapsing to the floor and bursting into tears.

   How shameful, to be outed by his own carelessness. To be fair, it wasn’t really expected of him to be careful in his own home, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Terror gripped Thranduil at the idea of a stranger knowing he was transgender, and what said stranger might do with such information.

   He cried for a very long time, letting out his anxiety and worry with floods of tears. When he was done he submerged his face in cold water, tied up his hair, and went back downstairs.

   “I was getting excited for a moment, but then I saw Bard leave. You’re breaking my heart, Thran; that would have been such a good opportunity to – you know – _get to know him_ ,” Haldir said as he approached.

   “He saw my vial of T,” Thranduil whispered. “He knows.”

   “Saw wha – oh.”

   “Yeah.”

   They didn’t talk about it. Thranduil didn’t even want to think about it. Bard probably thought him freak. The only thing he could do now was hope the entire town didn’t find out.

   It wasn’t that he was ashamed to be transgender, but knew other people to be ashamed in his place, like he was there to be pitied.

   Thranduil returned to work, albeit slowly and without motivation. Around two o’clock Legolas decided it was nap time. He was being permitted to choose when to sleep, which would mark a change in him for sure. Thranduil went upstairs with him, eager to be unconscious for even just a little bit. They climbed into bed together and dozed in the afternoon sun.

   When Thranduil woke, he took over the shop so that Haldir could eat something. Legolas wandered among the flowers, talking to them quietly like they could hear him. He was even convinced they spoke back to him and Thranduil did not seek to take this away.

   His son returned upstairs soon after having a very serious conversation with a peace lily, deciding he was hungry.

   “Bring me back a biscuit, won’t you?” Thranduil called to him.

   “Okay!”

   Legolas’ tiny footsteps dissipated and Thranduil leisurely continued to make flower arrangements with the delivery Tauriel had brought.

   A customer entered and he turned to greet them, but his heart constricted painfully instead at the sight of Bard walking into the shop. He looked very apologetic, twisting a beanie in his hands, which he hastily stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. Thranduil stared at him from behind the counter, amazed. Of all the things he had expected of Bard, coming back had been nowhere amongst his conclusions. He set down the roses he had been cutting.

   “I would have come sooner, but I had to finish a back piece,” Bard began, stepping forward a few paces. “Thanks for letting me in to rescue the cat.”

   “Sure,” was all Thranduil could get out. He didn’t know where this was going, which unnerved him. “Was it yours?”

   “Nah, it was the customer’s. She said she couldn’t leave it at home alone so I let it stay in the break room. I probably should have told Celebrían, or she may not have accidently let it escape.”

   Thranduil blinked. This was absurd.

   “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Bard continued tensely. “I didn’t – uh – expect to find anything like that in your house.”

   Thranduil opened his mouth to retort, but then realized Bard was attempting to pay him a compliment. It was a sloppy, misguided compliment that Thranduil didn’t really consider to be a compliment at all, but it was nonetheless meant with good intentions. He altered his approach.

   “You won’t – you won’t tell anyone, will you?” He hated the question as soon as it was asked, but he had to know.

   Bard shook his head immediately. “It’s none of my business,” he said honestly. “I just came to apologise for being rude.”

   “Oh.” Thranduil paused. No one had ever apologized to him for something like this before. “Thank you.”

   Bard approached Thranduil, closing the gap so that only the counter was between them. He looked very nervous, which Thranduil didn’t fully comprehend. Of the two of them, it was he who ought to be stumbling over his words.

   “I don’t want to burden you with more of my rudeness, but I was wondering if you could possibly help me?” Bard inquired, looking at his feet. “Of course, you don’t have to, but I thought it was worth a shot to at least ask.”

   He was tip-toeing around the question, irritating Thranduil.

   “What is it?” he said sharply.

   Bard’s head snapped up, startled by Thranduil’s tone.

   “I was after some advice,” he began, swallowing thickly. “My son – he’s – uh – not – uh – fuck, this is still so new to me.  He’s like – he’s like you.”

   Thranduil raised an eyebrow. He decided he wasn’t going to be offended by the objectification of his gender, but instead wary of Bard’s phrasing of it, for it had the potential to be extremely… distasteful.

   “You mean he’s a boy, not a girl?” he offered, trying to keep his tone level.

   Bard nodded and Thranduil relaxed slightly, pleased that Bard wasn’t being indelicate, which was something of a novelty to Thranduil.

   “I don’t want to pretend to be an expert about this, but the internet can only provide me with so much and…” Bard faltered. He paused and then sighed. “I’m just so lost about what to do.”

   “Well, what does he want to do? Bain, right?” Thranduil prompted, folding his arms.

   “Right. Well, he’s just as lost as me, from what I’ve observed. I mean, he’s only seven; being a boy starts and ends with him simply saying so, but I know it’s so much more complicated than that, especially in the future.”

   Bard looked extremely distressed, but Thranduil admired the effort he was undergoing to see that his son was given every consideration. And Thranduil admired Bard’s fast acceptance of Bain’s position. It was common for children to be ignored when it came to their gender.

   “Look, I’m not an expert either,” Thranduil finally said. “I didn’t start my transition until I was twenty-one. But, I know that the earlier you start, the better it is in the long run.”

   Bard nodded slowly, processing this. “So, seven wouldn’t be too young to – to – what is it that you do, exactly? I know there are hormones to take and surgery and all that but…”

   Thranduil grimaced. Personally, he found this to be a sensitive subject to talk about. He knew many transgender folk didn’t mind discussing their experiences, but he did not count himself among them in that respect.

   He considered attempting it, but the pitter-patter of small footsteps stopped him before he had the chance. Legolas had returned with a sandwich. He ran up to his father and handed him a biscuit triumphantly, his mouth full of bread.

   “Did Haldir make you a sandwich?!” Thranduil exclaimed, heaving Legolas up onto the counter and accepting the biscuit thankfully, though he had lost his appetite for it.

   Legolas beamed at Thranduil and took another bite. He then craned his neck around to look at who was behind him and lit up when he saw Bard. He shuffled himself on the table to face the other way, swallowing his food and grinning.

   “You remember Bard, don’t you?”

   Legolas nodded enthusiastically, but did not say anything, his timidity rearing once more in the face of someone who wasn’t Thranduil or Haldir.

   “Hey, Legolas!” Bard cheered, ruffling the boy’s curls.

   Thranduil held back a smile with difficulty. He regarded Bard for a moment, wondering if he ought to help the poor man. Surely he was able to get some advice from a doctor on this…

   Then again, doctors did not have a reputation for being overly supportive in a child’s transition. He and Bain were going to struggle, and Thranduil didn’t seem to be able to part from that knowledge. Perhaps sympathy was finally getting the better of him.

   Either way, maybe helping Bard would grant him a free tattoo.

   “Look, if you really want my help, why don’t we arrange a time to talk?” he said. “I’m free in the afternoons or on Wednesdays – Haldir can tend the shop during the day.”

   Bard made an unpleasant face at this. “That would be great, actually, but it will have to wait until next week – I only get the kids every second weekend.”

   “Ada, can I go pick the peas outside?” Legolas interjected, unmindful of the exchange happening above him.

   “Okay,” Thranduil said, picking up his son and putting him back on the ground. “Remember to ask the plant if you can take its peas.”

   “I know!” Legolas called, sprinting on his little legs to the courtyard.

   Thranduil flushed at Bard’s humoured expression.

   “I’m teaching him to be kind to plants,” he explained.

   Bard laughed.

   “He’s really cute. Is he – is he yours?” he said.

   Thranduil’s face fell, a mixture of anger, offense, and hurt riling in his chest. What business was it of Bard’s where Legolas had come from? Was it not enough that he was Thranduil’s son?

   Bard noticed his change in demeanour and became mortified.

   “I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m really not good at being polite, am I?” he excused shamefully.

   Thranduil rubbed his eyes vexedly, wishing he wasn’t quite so offended by everything. Accustomed to being insulted, he didn’t seem to recognize an honest question when it was presented to him.

   “No, I’m sorry,” he recovered. “Yes, Legolas is biologically mine, if that’s what you mean. I had him before I started taking hormones.”

   Bard whistled, impressed.

   “Does he know that you’re more than just his dad?”

   Thranduil shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. He then returned the subject to Bard’s children. “You say every second weekend? Are you divorced?”

   Bard’s face became annoyed, but comically so. He shrugged.

   “Yeah, I split with my ex about a year ago and I’ve only just settled down somewhere permanent in order to see my kids more often, but it isn’t the same,” he said a bit sadly.

   “Where does she live?”

   “London. It’s a hell of a journey to make every two weeks, but I love it here too much to move any closer. I think they like it here too, but their mum won’t let them live with me.”

   “Why not?” Thranduil persisted, curious.

   “No reason,” Bard said with another shrug of his broad shoulders. “She just hates me.”

   “Is she the person you bought flowers for last week?”

   “Yeah. Not that she deserves them. The cheque I sent her bounced and she practically assaulted me over the phone. Like, fuck, I’m _sorry_ I forgot to transfer money into the right account, geez,” Bard said sarcastically.

   Thranduil smirked, amused by Bard’s attitude towards his family.

   “Is she good about Bain?” he wondered.

   “Relatively speaking. She accepts it, but doesn’t want him to start transitioning yet.”

   Thranduil rolled his eyes, already beginning to dislike this woman he’d never even met.

   “Well, I’m happy to help if you need it. Weekend after next?”

   Bard nodded, brightening up considerably. “Thank you so much! It actually means a lot,” he said, gratitude in every syllable.  

   They were silent for a moment before he spoke again. “In the meantime, would you – would you like to go out for coffee or dinner or a drink or something?” he offered timidly, his cheeks turning pink.

   Thranduil started, stomach twisting. Was he being asked out on a date?

   “Oh – um – I’m sorry, Bard, but I don’t – er –” he sprawled hopelessly over his words, lost as to what to say.

   “That’s okay!” Bard quickly saved, looking equally embarrassed. “It was just a thought.”

   He grabbed his beanie and shoved it back on his head, making for the door. He paused, however, and turned back.

   “Will you still come to the showcase on Friday? You don’t have to, but I’d like it if you were there,” he said.

   Thranduil decided to take this opportunity to decline – and sincerely so – though he knew he would feel bad to reject Bard twice in the space of barely a minute.

   “About that – I can’t go to the _Imladris_. My – my ex-boyfriend owns it and, well, I just don’t really fancy putting myself in such an awkward position,” he confessed.

   “Elrond is your ex?” Bard mused, his eyes flickering passed the back door where Legolas was in the courtyard. “He won’t be there; he’s in London until next week as far as I know. You don’t have to come if you still don’t want to, but –”

   “No, I will!” Thranduil said hastily, his heart leaping to his throat. “If he won’t be there, I’ll go.”

   Bard flashed a huge grin and a thumbs-up. He left the shop with Thranduil feeling a heavy combination of many different emotions. How strange – that morning he had considered Bard a bit of a nuisance, always bumping into Thranduil when he wanted to be left alone, and now they were almost friends. He never anticipated to be put in such a position just for being transgender, but he concluded that it was a rather good position. It was good to make friends.

   “What did I miss?” Haldir returned from the flat, still finishing an apple. He watched Bard leave the shop with interest.

   Thranduil shot his friend a critical look and sighed lethargically.

   “He’s single and has a trans kid and he learned a great deal about me for someone I met last week,” he grumbled, at last returning to the rose stems he had been clipping for the bouquet.

   Haldir gaped at Thranduil.

   “Does this mean you have the potential to snag a date?” he exclaimed.

   “No! Fuck, you have to stop with the dating thing. Maybe in the future, but right now I don’t know what a date entails. I’m just not ready. I want a friend, not a fuck buddy or something.”

   “Fair,” said Haldir simply before glancing about the shop. “Where’s Legolas? He stole my phone.”

   Thranduil snorted. “He’s outside, probably burying it.”

   Haldir sprinted to the courtyard, wailing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a signature, a motorcycle, three paintings, and a goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warnings for transphobia and death mention ******  
> this chapter is ridic long (almost 7k) and I apologize for that

“Haldir?! Haldir, can you get the phone?” Thranduil was in the backyard collecting the last of the fruit and vegetables that grew there. Some tomatoes and carrots and peas and strawberries had emerged among the vines and shrubbery, peering out from beneath the leaves to soak up the last of the sun before summer completely gave into autumn.

   The in-store telephone rang urgently, but no footsteps approached to answer it. Swearing under his breath Thranduil ran inside, scuffing his bare feet on the mat and dropping the basket of food onto the front counter.

   “ _Greenwood Flowers_ ; this is Thranduil,” he said when he picked up the phone.

   “You use that name when you answer the phone? My god.”

   “What do you want?” Thranduil said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to hang up on his father.

   “We need to talk,” Oropher replied icily.

   “You want to talk now? I have nothing to say to you,” Thranduil said, blood pulsating hotly in his veins. He had nothing but anger and contempt for his father.

   Haldir returned from upstairs as this was said. He watched Thranduil probingly, pulling himself up onto the counter before brushing a tomato of some dirt and taking a bite out of it. Thranduil took a second to make a disgusted face at his friend. Haldir shrugged and listened to the conversation on the phone.

   “I have a few things I wish to tell you,” Oropher continued, ignoring Thranduil’s insolence. “I will be in town tomorrow and would like to see you.”

   “You cannot tell me over the phone?” Thranduil said sourly.

   “I have not been able to reach you over the phone until now,” his father countered. “And I require your signature.”

   “What for?”

   “Shall we say ten o’clock, at the café in the next town over?”

    “At least tell me wh –” Thranduil was interrupted by the sound of the line going dead.

   Thranduil let out a frustrated cry and kicked the counter, though it did little to lessen his ire. He slammed the phone into its cradle, fuming.

   “How dare he?!” he shrilled. “He kicks me out of home and refuses to speak to me for years, and now he’s trying to order me around like an obedient dog? What a prick.”

   Haldir looked on, his expression contemplative.

   “What did he want?” he asked.

   “He wants to meet up for coffee. Apparently he needs my signature, though I can’t think what for.”

   Haldir became suddenly horrified.

   “Oh, my god, Thran, he’s going to officially disown you,” he cried, jumping down from the counter. “Didn't you say he kept threatening you with paperwork before you left?”

   Terror flooded Thranduil. His own saliva tasted toxic. He had been counting on his parents to let their only heir inherent the family fortune despite their disagreements. If he was legally disowned, he wasn’t entitled to this money; he wasn’t entitled to anything.

   What had changed their minds? What made them decide he was no longer worthy of their money and family name? His mother had been defensive of him, practically begging Thranduil to stay when he finally elected to leave. Had she no say in this? Had she finally given up on him as well?

   All hope for surgery and sending Legolas to a good school in the future disappeared. That money had been Thranduil’s best chance at securing a future for him and Legolas.

  He was going to lose everything.

 

   It took a great deal of pestering on Haldir’s part to convince Thranduil to meet his father the next morning. He gave Legolas a sad kiss goodbye, put on his best pair of shoes even though they gave him blisters, and ran out the door.

   He was pressed for time to catch the bus, counting down the seconds on his mobile phone. He reached the stop with a minute to spare, but looking down the road he saw the bus driving away without him.

   “Fuck.”

   The next one did not come for twenty minutes. He was going to be late, and in his father’s world it was better not to turn up at all than to be late.

   Thranduil stared at the screen of his phone, wondering if it was worth it to call and let Oropher know he wasn’t going to make it on time. He was just about to dial the number when he heard the screaming engine of a motorcycle come to a halt in front of him.

   He scanned the vehicle discreetly. It was sleek-looking and black with a fat round headlight and brown leather upholstery. It sat low to the ground and rumbling noisily. Thranduil stared at the driver astride it, feeling perplexed as to what they could possibly want from him. Directions, maybe?

   As if to answer this, the driver switched off the engine and pulled up the visor of their helmet. Bard’s face greeted Thranduil through the gap.

   “Are you all right?” he asked, glancing down at the bus ahead of him.

   Thranduil blinked for a moment, still putting together what exactly he was looking at; Bard on a motorcycle with heavy boots and a thick leather jacket. He bit back a whimper, locking his phone.

   “I missed the bus,” he responded helplessly.

   “Do you need a ride?”

   Thranduil studied the motorcycle with worry, wondering if he was truly desperate enough to get on the back of it. He wasn’t afraid of it, but was quite properly intimidated by the driver, which was enough to make him think twice.

   “I don’t want to inconvenience you,” he argued weakly.

   “I’m going as far as Nottingham,” Bard said.  

   Thranduil sighed and nodded, submitting to his own desperation and self-pity. He took a few steps to approach the bike, but Bard tugged the helmet off his head and tossed it to Thranduil before he could climb on.

   “Passenger comes first.”

   “I thought the driver was responsible for the safety of both himself and the passenger,” Thranduil argued, catching his reflection in the visor.

   “Exactly, and I can take very good care of myself. Get on.”

   Thranduil squeezed the helmet over his head and swung his leg effortlessly over the vehicle, making himself comfortable on the small seat behind Bard, glad to at least say this wasn’t going to be a new experience for him. Squashing the embarrassment and tensions quelling in his stomach, he wrapped his arms around Bard’s waist, holding them close together.

   “Ready?”

   Thranduil nodded again and the motorcycle threw itself back onto the road with a lurch. Thranduil clung to Bard tightly as it sped down the street, the wind whipping his hair and jumper.

   It wasn’t a long ride, but Thranduil enjoyed the fleeting exhilaration of the speed and rubber beneath him, his heart skittering with adrenaline. Bard pulled over when he pointed to where he needed to be, turning off the engine again and resting a boot against the tarmac of the side of the road. Thranduil returned the helmet and dismounted, trembling from the rush combined with his building anxiety.

   “Are you okay?” Bard said, scrutinizing him. “You look a little pale.”

   Thranduil let out a hollow laugh and looked down at his feet, which were already beginning to ache in his shoes.

   “I’m here to meet my father,” he explained. “Let’s just say ‘nervous’ doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling right now.”

   “I’m sorry,” Bard offered sympathetically. “Do you not get along?”

   “That’s one way of putting it.”

   “Well, I hope it doesn’t go too badly. I have to go, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

   Thranduil waved goodbye as Bard put his helmet back on and started up the engine again. He flew off onto the road, a small black dot among the bustle of cars. Thranduil watched him go until he realised he was only just going to be on time to meet his father. He hastened towards the café, attempting to make his appearance more presentable. He brushed out the tangles in his hair with his fingers and buttoned up his shirt neatly, but all-in-all it didn’t do him much good.

 _I’m getting disowned; what does it matter?_ He thought peevishly.

   Entering the café he spotted Oropher immediately, sat in a booth with his attention on the mobile phone in his hands and the coffee in front of him. His appearance was the same as it had always been; grey hair curling about his temples and his suit pressed and clean. Thranduil couldn’t resist the look of disdain at the sight of him.

   He ordered a long black, fishing out loose change from his jeans. He informed the girl at the register of which table he was sitting at and went over, dropping himself into the chair in front of his father, not bothering to hide his derision.

   Oropher started, angered by such an impolite arrival. However, set down his phone without comment and stared at his child in astonishment. Thranduil figured he looked very different to when they had last seen each other three years ago.

   To think so much time had passed, yet their interactions had not changed; stiff and silent, avoiding eye contact where possible. Thranduil had little care for his father and he wasn’t going to waste his time pretending otherwise. It didn’t matter if three months or three years had gone by, he would still offer the man the same rudeness he was displaying now.

   “You look well,” Oropher observed, though it was not with kindness and he continued to stare at Thranduil, causing him to shift uneasily.

   “What do you want?”

   Oropher took a sip of his coffee, pointedly delaying his response before turning to the briefcase that sat beside him on the booth seat. He withdrew some papers stapled together and presented it to Thranduil, clearing his throat.

   “This is a legal document that releases you from any ties with this family,” he declared, placing a pen down on the table. “I would like you to sign it.”

   The waitress arrived with Thranduil’s coffee then. She set it down uncomfortably and disappeared without a word. Thranduil didn’t touch it.

   “You would disown your only son?” he snarled once she was gone.

   Oropher was taken aback by this. He withdrew into his seat and regarded Thranduil for a moment.

   “I do not have a son,” he said. “I have a daughter, and she does not offer my family any honour.”

   Thranduil hissed at these words, his fingers prickling with rage and anguish at being referred to as someone he wasn’t. He pushed the paper away, glaring at his father.

   “I am your only child. I am the best hope you have for this family. You already have a grandson – why does it matter what my gender is?” he said quietly, ferocity striking every word.

   “It matters to me and to the society I belong to. Your mother and I did not raise you to be a degenerate,” Oropher replied simply.

   Thranduil was held speechless at this, using all his self-control to keep his mouth shut and not hit his father for such a slight. Instead, he snatched the pen from the table and ruffled carelessly through the pages until he found a dotted line, awaiting his signature. He scribbled it down and smacked the pen back on the table. 

   “Fuck you,” he said, standing up.

   “I am not finished,” Oropher said. His voice was calm when Thranduil’s was a hurricane.

   Thranduil whirled around, positively livid at the idea of being stopped at the point of storming out.

   “What?”

   Oropher did not speak for a moment. Thranduil noted the sorrow that overcame his icy gaze, shifting his demeanour into something that could almost pass for a legitimate emotion.

   “Your mother is dead.”

   Thranduil’s heart shuddered to a halt, his throat swelling with the threat of tears.

_How? When?_

   He managed to push aside his newfound grief to walk back to his father.

   “Good,” he spat.

   Thranduil left the café quickly, jogging to the main road.

   He walked home, putting his rage and misery into every step and welcoming the pain his shoes brought to his feet as he did so. How could his father pull such a stunt? Disown him and tell him his mother had died within the same instant? God, he knew the world was unkind, but even that was harsh. Thranduil may not have spoken to his mother as often as he would have liked, but she had been good and kind regardless of siding with Oropher about Thranduil’s decisions.

   Disowned and motherless, and what a bitter realisation it was. Thranduil made it halfway home before he ran out of the anger that kept him going. His feet burned with agony. He turned down an empty street, sat on a low wall, and cried.

   He cried until he couldn’t breathe, the deep sobs penetrating his chest like heavy blows. He knew it was useless, but if it did anything, it made him feel better. It gave him the courage to keep walking. He took off his shoes and left them by the wall, continuing on barefoot, feeling the warm concrete beneath his toes.

   He absently wondered if Bard would happen to be coming back from Nottingham, but Thranduil new such a thing to be impossible, and didn’t understand why he thought of it in the first place. He made it home without assistance and went straight upstairs, not looking Haldir in the eye, and knowing he didn’t have to.

   Legolas followed him to the flat, wanting to watch a movie together. Thranduil submitted without much reluctance and soaked his feet in cold water while he opened his laptop to find a film to stream from the internet. Legolas chose _My Neighbour Totoro_ and Thranduil hooked it up to the television, making sure to select the English dub-over. He was glad he could count on Legolas to help him forget the world for even a little while.

   He spent the rest of the day downstairs in the courtyard, making bouquets in the rare sunshine that filtered through the clouds. Legolas sat with him and was shown how to make flower-crowns. When Haldir closed the shop at five, he checked in on his flatmate.

   “How did it go?” he questioned, sitting down on the ground and picking up some roses to bind together.

   Thranduil gave him a critical look and shook his head, putting a flower crown of chrysanthemums on Legolas’ head.

   “Mother died,” he said softly, looking at his still swollen feet.

   Haldir hugged him, brushing Thranduil’s hair out of his eyes to convey sympathy.

   “Are you okay?”

   Thranduil shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there to say goodbye to her,” he said.

   “Don’t feel guilty for getting upset. She was a nice lady.” Haldir stood, stretching. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll get us take-out.”

   They returned to the flat and ordered noodles for dinner. Thranduil was grateful for Haldir’s distance; he never pressured Thranduil to talk about his feelings, and somehow it was easier to deal with them that way.

   He played a drawing game with Legolas while Haldir went to pick up the food from the restaurant down the street. When he came back, he handed Thranduil a box of noodles and a small package about the size of a cigarette case, wrapped in brown paper.

   “What’s this?” he asked, accepting it.

   “I ran into Bard,” was all Haldir clarified, though he was fighting back a huge grin.

   Thranduil opened the tiny parcel to reveal a small cutting of glass, framed by thin Beechwood. Inside the glass was a pressed flower, one that even Thranduil did not recognize. He found a strip of paper folded inside with a message scribbled in a messy hand.

 _This is a_ Parnassia _, a rare dicot. I bought it from a peddler in Nottingham because it reminded me of you. I hope the meeting with your da wasn’t too awful._

-          _Bard_

   Thranduil looked at the gift with wonder. The flower was very beautiful; five white petals with thin veins of green. He read the note again.

   “He likes you,” Haldir whispered, smirking into his food.

   Thranduil made a rude hand gesture when Legolas wasn’t looking and began to eat, inspecting the flower as he did so. It was nice of Bard to buy it for him. He would thank him the next time they met, for Thranduil still didn’t have his phone number. Not yet.

 

   “Do you think the showcase will be a suit-and-tie event, or smart-casual?” Thranduil asked on Friday as he pilfered his wardrobe for something decent to wear.

   “Smart-casual.”

   Haldir sat on the bed in Thranduil’s room with Legolas on his lap, watching the chaos unfold before him. Thranduil discarded every piece of clothing that he came into contact with, unable to decide on anything. He groaned in frustration.

   “Oh! Do you want to borrow my leather jacket?” Haldir suggested after some thought.

   “It won’t be too warm for it?” Thranduil said, taking out a blue collared shirt and pressing it against his torso experimentally.

   “Not when you’re coming home,” Haldir affirmed. He jostled Legolas and went to his room, returning with the jacket and sizing it up against Thranduil. He was slightly bigger than Haldir, but it had the chance to fit.

   “I still don’t know what to wear with it,” Thranduil whined, throwing the shirt onto the growing pile on the floor.

   Legolas was crawling about on the bed. He found a gap in the sheets and soon became little more than a wandering lump beneath the duvet that cooed occasionally. Thranduil watched him for a little while until Haldir pressed him to keep sorting through the mess of his wardrobe.

   Thranduil didn’t want to admit it – especially to Haldir – but he was very nervous. For some reason, he felt the need to impress Bard tonight. He wanted to show that he was capable of being presentable and liked, because he knew of his reputation for being distant and odd.

   “How about this?” Haldir suggested, holding up a loose-fitting grey t-shirt. “It’ll go with your jeans.”

   “But it’s so simple,” Thranduil said, fingering the fabric doubtfully.

   “Sometimes simple is best. Here, put it on.”

   Thranduil took the garment and slipped it over his head, pulling his hair out from the neck hole. He took Haldir’s jacket and shrugged it on.

   _Not bad._

   “Those black shoes you have will go really well with this,” his friend added. “Where are they?”

   “Oh – I wore them when I went out of town on Wednesday. They hurt my feet so I dumped them,” Thranduil replied, examining himself in the mirror.

   Haldir groaned. “You mean to tell me that the only pair of shoes you now own are those _Vans_? They’re not even shoes anymore!”

   Thranduil went to put them on, his socks poking out of the holes.

   “No one’s going to be looking at my feet,” he reasoned, though secretly he regretted discarding his other shoes. These ones ruined his whole outfit.

   “I suppose there’s no helping it now,” said Haldir, glancing at his watch. “You’re going to be really late.”

   “Ah!”

   Thranduil grabbed his wallet and keys and kissed Legolas goodbye through the bed sheets, fleeing from the room.

   “I’ll text you when I’m coming home!” he called out.

   He pelted through the back door and down the adjoining stairs outside, careful not to knock over any of the potted plants on the concrete steps in his haste. Rounding the corner of the shop, he was met with the silhouette of a dark figure against the pink and orange of the sunset. It was Bard, leaning against his motorbike and texting. He looked up at Thranduil’s approach.

   “Oh, I just sent you a message,” he declared, holding up his phone.

   Thranduil felt his own mobile phone vibrate in the pocket of his jeans. He fished it out and saw a message from an unknown number telling him _‘I’m giving you a lift. Come outside.’_ He quickly saved the number under _‘Annoying Work of Art’_ and went over to Bard.

   “I thought you would be there already,” he commented, subtly looking Bard up-and-down. The artist pulled off the leather jacket look far better than Thranduil.

   “It’s not really my showcase; my work only features,” Bard said, handing Thranduil a second helmet and sliding onto the motorcycle. “I’m allowed to be late.”

   “But is it really appropriate if you don’t show up with _Starbucks_?” Thranduil quipped, putting the helmet on.

   Bard roared with laughter, which surprised Thranduil, for he didn’t really mean for it to be funny. He managed a grin through the tightness of the helmet and joined Bard on the motorcycle, excited to feel it purring beneath him again.

   Bard shoved his head into his own helmet and slid up his visor, looking back at Thranduil.

   “You’re so comfortable on a bike,” he said. “You even know when to lean.”

   “You think it’s a novelty to me? Please, Bard, don’t flatter yourself,” Thranduil retorted, his voice muffled through the headgear.

   Bard laughed again and brought the engine to life like a roaring thunder. Thranduil held tightly to his waist and they flung out onto the road, speeding through the streets.

   The _Imladris_ was a little way outside Nottingham, an old town hall refurbished and used as an art gallery and recreational studio for activities like karate, yoga, and ballet. Thranduil had not been there in years, avoiding it at all costs out of fear of running into Elrond. He was glad his ex-boyfriend would not be there tonight. He would have been very sorry to miss out on seeing Bard’s work.

   The ride there was exhilarating. Bard pushed the speed limit, knowing Thranduil felt safe in his care. He swerved through cars and trucks, waving sometimes to the drivers when he overtook them. The sun set and he flicked on his headlights. Thranduil dared even to rest his head on Bard’s shoulder, closing his eyes against the wind and the summer warmth. 

   When they arrived, lights were on inside the hall. Music filtered softly out into the night, greeting guests.

   Bard parked along the side of the building, filing in next to a minivan. Thranduil clambered off the bike, stretching. He extracted his head from the helmet, ruffled his hair back into shape, and followed Bard to the front entrance, feeling skittish. It had been a very long time since he had been out on a Friday night. Or any night, for that matter.

   “It’s about time you got here,” said a man sitting at the door behind a table. He had a firmly-set expression and a broad chin, framed by unruly brown hair. “I want a drink.”

   “I’ll buy you one,” Bard promised, flashing another one of his childlike smiles.

   “Who’s your friend?” asked the stranger, looking passed Bard with a curious expression at Thranduil.

   “This is Thranduil,” Bard introduced. Thranduil took a few more steps forward, attempting a polite smile. “He’s an artist too.”

   Thranduil started. “What? No, I’m not!”

   Bard rolled his eyes. “Those flower arrangements are works of art to me,” was all he said.

   Thranduil blushed, flattered. He leaned across the table to accept the handshake of the man there, who said his name was Arathorn. His grin was far too wide to be considered appropriate for the situation, but Thranduil decided to think nothing of it.

   “He’s my plus-one,” Bard said.

   “That only applies to family,” Arathorn reproved, eyeing Thranduil sceptically. “He has to pay for entry.” 

   Bard snorted. “You’re a laugh. Pack up, you talking oxen. I’ll buy you a drink and we can see what scribbles you’ve got to show us.”

   Arathorn stood up, scowling at Bard’s jibe. Thranduil understood then why Bard had referred to him as an oxen; the man was huge! He stood at Thranduil’s height, but the mass of his muscle meant he was twice Thranduil’s size horizontally. In one easy movement he slid the papers and a money tin off the table, picked up the table and the chair, and walked inside.

   Bard shot an eager look to Thranduil and they entered the hall, engulfed in the bright light where people milled about, gazing at framed works of art and talking or buying drinks from a bar in the corner. Bard gestured to Thranduil, indicating he wanted a drink also.

   “Would you like anything?” he inquired, looking at what was on tap for that evening.

   “No, thank-you,” Thranduil replied.

   Bard ordered a scotch-and-cola for himself while Thranduil judged his surroundings. The hall was spacious and well furnished with sofas to be comfortable. Dozens of artworks clung to the white walls, each piece accompanied by a square of paper with the artist’s name and what the artwork meant. From afar, Thranduil saw that most of the art pieces were minimalism, which he found intriguing, but not enough to consider putting it on his wall at home.

   Noticing Bard’s attention on an animated conversation with the bartender, Thranduil wandered off, starting at the far end of the hall and making his way slowly around, inspecting all the artworks. He liked them, but couldn’t always tell what they were supposed to be until he read the description.

   All in all, there were four artists showing off their work. Bard’s pieces were at the end, though Thranduil was slightly disappointed to see only three of them on the wall.

   “What do you think?” Bard came up behind Thranduil, making him jump.

   “Messy,” said Thranduil honestly, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t know what that is.”

   “Mountains.”

   “Oh! Of course. The purple threw me off.”

   “Not impressed?” Bard said, though he smiled.

   “No, no I am,” Thranduil insisted. “I just picked you for a minimalist kind of guy, is all.”

   Bard rolled his eyes at this. “Minimalism is boring to me as an artist. It’s nice to look at, but I don’t enjoy creating it. Arathorn says otherwise, but I don’t like to argue with him about it. I once made a cheap joke about his art and he broke my jaw.”

   Thranduil grimaced, glancing at Bard’s mouth. He had a good chin – his lips were nice too. It would be a shame to have them permanently damaged.

   Standing so close and without the misfortune of feeling uncoordinated and flustered, Thranduil noticed Bard had a very boyish face. Though he had pinned the man for his mid-twenties, the lighting of the exhibition meant he could almost have passed for seventeen.

   Thranduil did not believe he was one to talk, however. He was convinced he looked like a teenage girl if he wore the wrong outfit. He supposed he had his long hair to blame for that.

   “Who’s that?” he elected then to say, offering himself a distraction and pointing to one of the two portraits on the wall.

   “A street busker. His name was Gandalf and I gave him two pounds.”

   “That’s a bit stingy,” Thranduil remarked.

   “It was all I had at the time,” said Bard.

   “Okay, who’s that?”

   “Sigrid. I copied it off a photo I took of her eating spaghetti.”

   “I like the mountains,” Thranduil concluded, looking back to the first painting and watching the greens and purples and pinks clash and collide into each other in cascades of strokes.  

   “That’ll be one hundred pounds,” Bard joked, opening a palm as if to receive money.

   Thranduil thought to roll his eyes or make a derisive noise, but instead lifted his hand and slapped it against Bard’s in a high-five. He didn’t know why he did it. There was something so intimate about high-fiving someone you had not before. Sometimes Thranduil wondered if you could transfer entire messages through such brief contact.

   Bard smirked crookedly and Thranduil decided he liked that smile very much.

   “Now what?” he pondered.

   “There will be an opportunity to buy the paintings later on. In the meantime, we mingle,” Bard answered, finishing his drink.

   Thranduil’s heart leapt to his throat at the thought of mingling. Meeting people made him nervous. Gnawing away at his stomach was the feeling that they knew; somehow they _knew_ he was transgender. This feeling was a result of habit, however. In the effort to keep his hair long, people had only just begun to see Thranduil for the boy that he was, the hormones working slowly to widen his jaw and lower his brow. For a while, new acquaintances considered him to be some weird-looking girl. The testosterone kicked in properly when Thranduil moved to open his flower shop, but these interactions of the past had left quite an impact on him.

   He shadowed Bard like a lost puppy, shaking people’s hands and complimenting their artwork courteously when he was told they had contributed to the exhibition. His cheeks began to ache from smiling so much, but he was determined to keep up with Bard, who seemed to know everyone inside the four walls and insisted on skipping the small talk and launching straight into conversations that seemed to pick up from a previous discussion the last time he and the person had met, and in so losing Thranduil completely.

   It eventually became too much for him and he went to find some place to sit down, crossing his legs on a sofa near the bar. He checked his phone for messages and opened some from Haldir, though they were mostly photos of his misadventures with Legolas. Thranduil had been gone barely two hours and it was apparent that his son had already drawn on the walls, broken Haldir’s favourite record, and refused to eat his dinner.

-          **Your child is a terror, Thran.**

-          _Did you give him red sweets?_

-          **Not intentionally! I was eating them from the jar and he took some when I went to the bathroom.**

-          _Then it’s your own fault._

-          **When are you coming back to control your gremlin?**

-          _I don’t know. I’m very tired, but Bard is my ride home and he’s still talking to people. I think he knows literally everyone._

-          **Just take a taxi home?**

-          _I can’t afford a taxi. And Bard has a motorbike._

-          **So that’s the noise I heard when you left!**

-          **Sexy.**

-          _Don’t be gross._

-          **Let me know if you get lucky!**

   Thranduil rolled his eyes and locked the phone, looking up to see Bard speaking enthusiastically with a woman about one of his paintings. He seemed very excited. When the conversation was over, he spotted Thranduil and bounded over, grinning enormously. Thranduil wondered if the man ever stopped smiling.

   “Someone’s interested in my work!” he crowed, clapping his hands. “She wants to buy my busker.”

   “That’s great!” Thranduil cheered, giving two thumbs-up in order to effectively convey his happiness.

   Bard dropped himself on the sofa next to Thranduil and stretched luxuriously. Thranduil tried not to be mindful of the skin that exposed itself above his jeans, which sat very low. He looked at Thranduil, resting his head against the back of the sofa, his eyes inquisitive.

   “Are you okay?” he asked.

   Thranduil blinked at the sudden question, unsure of the angle from which it had come. It made him feel uneasy. Having known Bard for only a week now, it didn’t seem right that he was so casually checking up on Thranduil, who believed there was a certain point in each friendship where such honest communication was established, and he and Bard were nowhere near that point.

   Still, Thranduil didn’t like to lie.

   “Not really,” he confessed. “But I can handle it.”

   “Did things not go well with your dad?” Bard guessed.

   “Calling him my father is kind of redundant now. He legally cut me off from the family and told me that my mother died,” Thranduil said. 

   He didn’t know why he was telling Bard this. Perhaps, after the incident with the testosterone, he felt he could trust him. And it was nice to have someone to confide in that wasn’t Haldir.

   “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   Tears pricked Thranduil’s eyes. He blinked them back furiously, sniffling, damned if he was going to be found weeping in public about his cold father and recently deceased mother.

   Yet who was to say her death had been recent? Oropher had not been specific about how or why or when, only considering Thranduil enough to tell him she was gone. She might have been dead for weeks or months and he wouldn’t have known. He hadn’t been invited to any funeral.

   Thranduil burst into tears before he could even think not to.

   Never had he seen someone respond to him crying as quickly as Bard did. He snatched Thranduil’s hand and swept him from the sofa, dragging him through a door and out into an empty foyer where a reception desk stood in the semi-darkness.

   Bard sat Thranduil down in a nearby chair and waited patiently until he stopped crying. Thranduil wished he was more composed, but the very reality of not having his mother shook his heart and hollowed out his chest as if to see how much pain could replace his flesh. His throat burned with choking sobs, his breath coming in and out in shudders. How much more was he expected to endure?

   His breathing was still erratic when he stopped crying. He tried to calm himself, accepting the tissues that Bard gave him from the desk.

   “S-sorry,” he managed, blowing his nose.

   “Don’t be,” said Bard gently. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

   “But what about your art? I thought you said someone was interested,” Thranduil protested.

   “Arathorn can take care of it. And I wouldn’t ask you to stay here until the auction is over.” Bard led Thranduil to the glass front doors of the hall, opening one of them and letting Thranduil step out into the cool night. “You remember where the bike is? Okay, I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

   Bard shut the door and disappeared back inside. Thranduil walked slowly to the parking lot, feeling dejected and pathetic. He had ruined Bard’s night rather spectacularly.

   He located the motorcycle without difficulty, the minivan still in its spot beside it. Thranduil stroked his hand across the leather, the Harley-Davison logo looking up at him from the side of the body. To think he had been a teenager the last time he road on the back of a bike, yet still he knew how and when to swerve on the road and how to cooperate with the driver. He had missed the thrill it gave him.

   Bard returned from the hall, pulling on his jacket as he approached. Thranduil sniffed away the last of his tears and waited for Bard to mount the motorcycle before getting on himself. He put his helmet on and the engine started, screaming beneath them. Bard fiddled with the headlights and then reversed out into the parking lot, darting onto the road and streaking through the few cars that lingered on the freeway.

   They came home a great deal faster than when they had left, Bard breaking every speed limit. Perhaps he was eager to be rid of Thranduil or perhaps he simply enjoyed the freedom of the empty roads. Either way, Thranduil was glad to be at his flat once more, warmed by the yellow light that shone through the balcony window, silhouetting the plants that hung there.

   “I’m sorry I spoiled your evening,” he murmured, handing Bard back his helmet.

   “Don’t worry about it,” Bard assured sincerely. “I sold a painting and I got to come home early. I should be thanking you.”

   Thranduil laughed lightly, rubbing his eyes which were tired now from crying.

   “Thank you for driving me home,” he said.

   “S’okay,” Bard returned with a slight shrug.  

   For a moment silence lingered in the crisp autumn air. Thranduil shifted awkwardly on his feet, unsure of what else to say. However, the flower Bard had given him came suddenly to his mind and he realised he had never offered his thanks for it.

   “Oh! And thank you for the flower. It’s lovely.”

   Bard perked up at this. “How cool is it? I thought it even looked like you a little bit.”

   Thranduil’s jaw slackened. “Bard, it’s a flower.”

   “And you’re not?”

   “I’m a human being!”

   Bard rumbled with laughter. “You know – when I got your phone number – I didn’t know how to spell your name, so I saved it under _‘Flower’_ and I haven’t changed it since.”

   Mortified, Thranduil huffed and muttered, “My name isn’t even that hard to spell.”

   “True, but that doesn’t give me enough cause to change it,” Bard maintained.

   Thranduil sighed, bouncing on his feet gawkily, disliking awkward exchanges before the proper goodbye was said. He remembered as a teenager being driven home meant he was expected to kiss the boy goodnight. He had hated it, however, because their hands always travelled.

   “I had a really good time,” he offered.

   “Even though you cried?”

   Thranduil covered his face with large hands, ashamed. “Let’s not talk about it,” he whispered through his palms.

   Bard laughed again. “Okay then. I guess I’ll see you around?”

   Thranduil inclined his head. He was glad Bard wasn’t like the other boys.

   “Do you live far?” he said.

   “A few streets away. It’s strange that you live above your shop. No one else here does,” Bard remarked.

   “Well, I can’t afford to pay for a shop and a house separately,” explained Thranduil. “But I kind of like it.”

   “Me too,” Bard agreed.

   With that, he put his helmet back on and waved goodbye, restarting his motorcycle. Thranduil waited until he was nothing but a red dot of a backlight down the road before heading upstairs. Fumbling for his keys, he let himself into the flat and was embraced by the friendliness and smell of home.

   He found Haldir and Legolas asleep on the sofa, snoring against the sound of the television which was playing the credits of a film. Shaking his head, Thranduil switched it off and cradled Legolas into his arms without waking him. He took the toddler to his bedroom and pulled his arms and legs into some pyjamas. Legolas swatted at his father uselessly, mumbling in half-sleep. Thranduil put him to bed and left the door slightly ajar before going to the kitchen to make some tea.

   Haldir was roused by the noise in the kitchen and he shuffled over, pulling himself onto the counter and sitting there crossed-legged, squinting up at Thranduil.

   “How’ditgo?” he slurred.

   “Sorry, can I get that in English?” Thranduil said, slicing a lemon.

   Haldir threw up his middle finger and repeated the question.

   Thranduil made tea for his friend and joined him on the countertop, telling him everything that had happened – from the thrilling motorcycle ride to Arathorn to Bard’s beautiful artwork to crying by the bar. Thranduil didn’t keep anything to himself. Except perhaps the bit about being called a flower, which was so ridiculous he didn’t even want to think about how Haldir might respond to it.

   “Did you get a kiss goodnight?”

   “No,” Thranduil said with a sigh.

   “Did you want one?” Haldir mused.

   Thranduil thought for a moment, staring down at the remnants of the lemon in his tea.

   “No,” he said.

   “This is so weird,” Haldir concluded, draining his mug and sliding off the bench. “I’m going to bed.”

   Thranduil emptied the rest of his drink down the sink and did the same. He crawled under the sheets gratefully and put his phone on charge. When the screen lit up, he saw he had a message from _‘Annoying Work of Art.’_

   He opened a picture message from Bard; it was a photograph of him jokingly fanning himself with two fifty-pound notes, a smug look on his face. Thranduil sent back a small coffee cup emoji and rolled over in bed, falling asleep instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Chapter four and five will be up soon since one just needs to be beta-ed and the other is nearly finished.  
> And of course, thank you to Sammy ([tumblr](http://thranduilscars.tumblr.com/) \+ [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/baeduil/pseuds/baeduil)) for doing such an amazing job editing this chapter. I love you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flowers, the long version, day care, and a misunderstanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **No trigger's for this chapter that I'm aware of. Maybe a brief mention of abortion, just for comparison purposes I suppose. But it's not bad. ******

Thranduil sat down at the dining table and pulled his laptop towards him, eyeing Haldir from over the screen.

   “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Haldir said, blowing on his coffee. His eyes were still puffy from sleep.

   “You and I can’t be Legolas’ only form of social interaction. He needs to learn to play and be with other children,” Thranduil affirmed, typing into the internet address bar.

   “He gets on with that Gimli kid okay,” Haldir insisted.

   “On a whim,” Thranduil said. “They met at the pizza place.”

   “Can you even afford to send him to day care?” Haldir persisted. It seemed he wasn’t very keen on the idea.

   “I have to,” Thranduil said, making a face.

   In truth, Thranduil was sceptical about sending Legolas to day care, worried that he may not get on with the other children. Not to mention the concept of leaving him in the hands of strangers (qualified though they may be) was terrifying. Thranduil didn’t want to think about it, but it was hard not to.

   He scrolled through the results of his search, uncertain of where to click; there were so many options.

   “Well, there’s no point going out of town for it. If you send him to that place by the park, I can drop him off some days when I leave for uni and pick him up when I come home. It’s near my bus stop.”

   Thranduil typed the name of the day care around the corner, browsing the website. He squashed his cheek into his hand as he read, blue eyes flickering against the screen.

   “It’s pretty cheap,” he commented. “I might go there this afternoon and have a proper look.”

   “Okay,” Haldir said, standing up and stretching. “I’m having a shower. Don’t forget to take your T.”

   Thranduil started at being reminded of this. He shut his laptop and went to the kitchen, retrieving the little bottle of testosterone from the box by the sink where medication and vitamins were kept. Then he went to rouse Legolas while the kettle boiled for coffee.

   “What do you think about going to day care, Leafy?” Thranduil said as he helped Legolas out of his pyjamas, which had dinosaurs on them.

   “What’s that?” Legolas mumbled, yawning hugely.

   “It’s a place where you go to learn new things and play with other kids.”

   “I like playing with you.”

   Thranduil smiled, finding a shirt in the chest of drawers by the bed and pulling it over Legolas’ head, disturbing his already messy curls.

   “I know, but I have to work. Besides, it will be nice to play with kids your own age, don’t you think? You can have a good time and make some friends and then I or Haldir will pick you up in the afternoon.”

   “Every day?” Legolas said, looking dejected.

   “Not every day.”

   He thought about it seriously, rubbing his chin. “Can I still watch cartoons in the morning?”

   Thranduil chuckled. “Of course.”

   “Okay then,” Legolas agreed.

   Now that he was dressed, Thranduil ushered his son out of the room to start the day. Haldir was on the sofa in the lounge room, already getting a head start on the cartoons, his head wrapped up in a towel. Thranduil finished making his coffee while Legolas went over and settled himself in Haldir’s lap, whose hands naturally went to the tresses of Legolas’ hair, brushing out the knots with his fingers, eyes fixed on the television.  

   After breakfast, Thranduil dressed and went downstairs to meet Tauriel with the delivery. He tied up his hair and listened to her talk about her weekend while she brought in new flowers. Thranduil was delighted to see his order of Dahlia’s finally arrive. He hovered over them excitedly.

   “The Hibiscuses you wanted will be here on Wednesday,” Tauriel said, taking a pen from behind her ear and checking things off on a clipboard. “Oh! We got that Camellia you asked for.”

   She climbed into the back of truck again and handed Thranduil a pot with three pink flowers, already blooming and tinged with a soft purple around the edges of its many petals. He hugged it to his chest ecstatically and kissed Tauriel on the cheek.

   “You’re the best,” he crowed.

   She beamed. “I know.”

   “Do you want some tea?” he asked, heading back inside the shop.

   “Can I ask for coffee? I’m beat. Glorfindel had me up at six o’clock this morning because some dickhead from head office forgot to send an order through,” grumbled Tauriel, closing the back of the truck and locking it. She followed Thranduil upstairs.

   He set the plant on the kitchen table and got two clean mugs for coffee and for tea. Tauriel walked around as he boiled the kettle, stunned and charmed by the amount of plants in the flat. Geraniums and Begonia’s and Black-Eyed Susan Vine hung from the ceiling, swinging as the wind came through from the open balcony. Pots of Aloe Vera, Anthuriums, Orchids, and Polyanthus sat on tables and shelves, decorating the rooms in a wonder of colours. Small pots of cacti and succulents soaked up the sun from the windows in the kitchen and by the stairs while a large cactus stood tall and proud in a bright corner. Out on the balcony, Ivy caressed the railing from its pot, climbing up around the windows and down onto the roof of the flower shop below. Along the edges of the balcony were various herbs, ready to be picked and used for cooking. The smell of basil drifted inside where two Wine palms and a Moreton Bay chestnut stood among the furniture, their leaves dancing in the breeze.

   And this was only half of what Thranduil had in his home.

   “You need a proper garden,” Tauriel said. “It’s not fair for someone like you to have to settle with indoor plants.”

   Thranduil shrugged, handing her a mug of coffee. “I like it here,” he said. “And I still have room down in the courtyard– it’s not the best for a garden, but it isn’t bad either.”

   They sat at the dining table, talking about plants and flowers. Tauriel was looking forward to Tibouchina returning now that autumn was on its way while Thranduil expressed his pleasure to see the David Austin Rose again. But it wasn’t long before Tauriel had to leave for her next delivery and Thranduil needed to open the store. They were just finishing their drinks when Legolas tottered out from his bedroom and screamed something exceptional when he saw Tauriel, running over to her and latching onto her leg.

   “Hey, it’s my favourite little snowdrop!” she exclaimed, heaving him onto her lap. She squeezed him like a plush toy, grinning. “Are you looking after your dad okay?”

   “I’m going to day care,” Legolas said, as if it answered the question completely.

   “Are you really?! Are you excited?”

   Legolas shook his head, his hair bouncing around his face.

   “Day care is awesome, Leggy. You get to play with so many cool toys and make new friends!” Tauriel said importantly.

   Legolas’ eyes went wide at this and he gasped in delight.

   They all went downstairs. Thranduil waved goodbye to Tauriel and then started to set up outside, pulling out crates and buckets of flowers to arrange in the street. Legolas helped by moving single flower stems from one bucket to another. Haldir eventually showed up and finished up for Thranduil before dashing off to class.

   At eleven o’clock, the telephone rang.

   “ _Greenwood Flowers;_ this is Thranduil.”

   “ _Esgaroth Tattoos;_ this is Bard.”

   “How did you get this number?” Thranduil rebuked with a laugh, twisting the phone cord around his fingers and looking at Legolas, who was picking off flower heads and putting them into a toy truck.

   “It’s in the phone book,” said Bard. “Fancy a coffee?”

   “I’m the only person in the shop right now,” Thranduil answered sadly.

   “Okay.” Bard hung up.

   Perplexed, Thranduil returned the phone to its cradle and scolded Legolas for destroying the flowers.

   “Go play outside, you little scamp,” he said, opening the door to the courtyard. “But don’t bury anything. I’m tired of finding your toys whenever I plant something in the garden beds.”

   Legolas obeyed, giggling as he grabbed his truck and went outside.

   Thranduil felt distinctly riled by Bard’s rudeness. It made his fingers restless so he set about making bouquets with the delivery as he had a bridal order to fill by Wednesday. His anger and confusion was short-lived, however, for Bard entered the store ten minutes later with two coffee cups in his hands.

   “Geez, you could at least explain yourself before you just hang up like that,” Thranduil reproached, sliding stems of lavender into the arrangement.

   Bard hummed with amusement and handed Thranduil the coffee, leaning against the counter. For a while he watched Thranduil put the flowers together, discarding certain ones in favour for others. He tried not to feel self-conscious under the other man’s gaze, but it was difficult not go pink. Bard’s eyes were so direct.  

   “How do you know which flowers to use?” he pondered.

   Thranduil paused, thinking. “I don’t,” he admitted. “I let them choose themselves, I suppose. Each bouquet conveys a different message, you see. Using the right flowers might look pretty, but it’s all about what you want them to say. So I guess it depends on what I want to say.”

   “What does this one say?” Bard looked entirely in awe of Thranduil.

   Thranduil’s blush deepened. “It says ‘I love you.’ I’m – uh – filling a bridal order.”

   “These are prettier than the flowers my ex-wife had,” Bard jibed, taking a drink from his coffee.

   “This isn’t the bridal bouquet. It’s just a table arrangement.”

   “Still. It’s gorgeous.”

   Thranduil smiled graciously, sliding one more rose into the binding.

   “How was your weekend?” he asked, electing for a change of topic.

   Bard lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “Uneventful. I tattooed some bananas.”

   “What?”

   Bard laughed at Thranduil’s bewildered reaction.

   “I was bored. Banana skins are similar to human skin, so they're good to ink if you are overcome with the powerful urge to create something.” Bard clenched his fists for exaggerated affect before relaxing again. "And I like the way tattoos look on bananas. I don't recommend eating them afterwards, though."

   “I see,” said Thranduil with a laugh, tying up the bouquet with a neat bow and putting it in a container with two others that looked exactly the same.

   “So when will you come by and get a tattoo?” Bard demanded, smirking.

   Thranduil’s face burned and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. “I – I can’t really afford a tattoo right now,” he muttered, retreating from the counter to collect more flowers, bundling them into his arms. “And I don’t know what I’d get.”

   Bard nodded understandingly. “I guess other people take it more seriously,” he reasoned, looking down at his arms pensively.

   “You don’t take it seriously?” Thranduil said, starting the final bouquet.

   “I do! But, I guess I forget how carefree I am about it too. I mean, I’ve been getting tattoos since I was sixteen.”

   “Sixteen? How?”

   “Fake ID. Can I sit here?” Bard said. He jumped up onto the counter when Thranduil nodded. “This was my first one.”

   Bard lifted his leg, tugging at the hem of his jeans to show Thranduil the tattoo of a constellation on his ankle, which Thranduil admittedly did not recognise.

   “Libra,” Bard said, putting his leg back down. “I was really into astrology when I was a teenager. Still, can’t say I regret getting it. What’s your sign?”

   “Virgo,” said Thranduil, who was beginning to be annoyed. He didn’t care for star signs. He was getting nothing from this conversation.

   “Is your birthday soon?” Bard continued.

   “It passed already. When’s yours?”

   “Twenty-fourth. I’m going to be twenty-five. I feel so old.”

   Thranduil hesitated at this, counting in his head.

   “You had Bain very young,” he commented.

   Bard’s face fell. In an instant he seemed to age beyond his years, his eyes sad. “Yeah, I did. I guess that’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

   Thranduil shook his head. “I was young too,” he said. “I was only twenty-one when I had Legolas.”

   “That’s still a whole lot better than eighteen. Not to mention we didn’t even hesitate to have Sigrid a year later,” Bard maintained, swinging his legs thoughtfully. “What’s your story, anyway? How come you’re a single dad at your age?”

   Thranduil wasn’t sure if he ought to reply or not. It was pointless keeping it a secret from Bard, but he still was reluctant to say anything. As a result, he remained silent for a while, sliding flowers into the bouquet neatly as he considered his options.

   “Do you want the short version or the long version?” he finally prompted.

   “I’ve got time,” Bard said, briefing a look to his watch.

   “Well, I was eighteen when I first met Elrond at boarding school, but we didn’t start dating until long after we graduated. I used to make the trip up to Nottingham every weekend to see him. My parents were actually really pleased about it; he came from high-society just like we did, so it was a good match. But it wasn’t really a proper relationship. We fell out a lot and argued all the time. We were both very self-destructive in our own ways, I think, so whenever we tried to work things it out, it blew up in our faces.

   “Still, I was really happy for about a year or so. It was messy and complicated, but the good outweighed the bad. We’d break up only to get back together, if that makes sense. But then I got pregnant, and that changed things, as it does. Elrond promised to be more committed to us, which was great, but the pregnancy itself really… messed with my head. It didn’t take me long to figure out why.”

   Thranduil stopped here, retrieving a cutting of ribbon to tie his last bouquet together. Bard waited, intrigued.

   “Elrond thought it was just hormones or something. When I told him I wasn’t a girl, he just laughed and brushed it off, not realising I was completely serious. People don't take you seriously when you're already an adult. They question the validity of your identity, which is nonsense. This was about two months into the pregnancy, so things only got worse after that; my mental health deteriorated, Elrond spent less and less time with me. I was tempted to terminate, but my parents wouldn’t allow it. And I couldn’t bear the thought for more than a second, in the end. You’d understand that, I suppose.”

   Bard nodded, but said nothing, eager only to listen.

   Thranduil smiled lightly. “Legolas gave me courage to keep going. When he was born, I took the opportunity to come out to everyone I knew. At this point I was just tired and angry and I really didn’t feel like I had anything to lose. I did, though – I lost everything. My father refused to speak to me and Elrond simply left – he didn’t even say goodbye.”

   Thranduil sighed, leaning against the counter comfortably. “Things slowly got better after that. It was hard, but better. I took what money I could from my mum. I started taking hormones to transition and got top-surgery as soon as I was permitted; it was a big deal to me that Legolas knew me as his dad straight away. If I waited any longer, it was going to be complicated for the both of us. 

   “I went to London, looking for work, doing whatever I could. I met Haldir during my time at a restaurant and he would babysit Legolas when I did night shifts. A few months after we met he needed somewhere to live, so he moved in with me. Then we came here last winter and set up this place. And that’s all there is, I think.”

   There was a heavy silence to follow. Bard simply gaped, but a small “Wow,” escaped him after a moment.

   Thranduil laughed. “You wanted the long version.”

   “What do you tell everyone else?” Bard asked.

   “Just that my girlfriend left and I met Haldir in London. An altered version of the truth, really, with some things left out,” Thranduil explained, smirking.

   The phone rang again and Thranduil answered it, catching Bard mimicking his greeting as he did so.

   “ _Greenwood Flowers;_ this is Thranduil.” He stuck his middle finger up at Bard, who grinned.

   “Is Bard there? Can you tell him to stop flirting with you and get his arse back over here? His eleven-thirty is here,” said a severely disgruntled woman.

   Thranduil flushed crimson at this. “I’ll tell him,” he said before hanging up.

   “Capitalism calls me!” Bard cried, obviously not needing to be told he had to return to work. “See you.”

   “Thanks for the coffee!”

   Bard waved as he left the store, jogging down the street and out of sight.

   When Haldir returned from university, Thranduil told him of Bard’s visit. He was thrilled at the idea of Thranduil telling the truth to someone for once. He didn’t mention anything about a date, however, which was a relief.

   He took over the shop so that Thranduil could go to the day care. Legolas demanded that he go as well, so Thranduil fetched the stroller from the back door and buckled Legolas in. He felt he ought to use it more often considering how much he paid for it.

   Arriving at the day care, Thranduil was met with the sound of screaming children outside. He unbuckled Legolas from the stroller and they went in.

   The building was clean and well-kept, but a lot smaller than Thranduil anticipated. Perhaps it was because he was a towering adult and the rooms were built for children, all the furniture like doll-house pieces. At the front was a reception desk and what appeared to be a staff room behind it. To the right was the main play area, and beyond that to the left was the area for infants. There was a kitchen alongside the bathroom and past two sliding doors was the playground outside.

   A small, plump woman with a round, beaming face greeted Thranduil. She stepped over stray toys and smiled up at him, her blonde hair tied high in an enormous bun which wobbled and swayed as she moved. She said her name was Gilraen and when Thranduil inquired after day care, she became very enthusiastic and began showing him around. Legolas stuck fast to his father’s leg, not daring to explore despite his obvious curiosity. 

   “Our times are very flexible. You can come and go as you please and there’s no flat rate. You pay by the hour and a bill gets sent to you at the end of every month,” Gilraen blathered on, putting things away as she spoke.  “And we – oh, Aragorn, what is it now?”

   “Mum – mum, one of the kids stole my spot on the swing,” wept a small boy, who looked about Legolas’ age.

   “Did you get off the swing?” Gilraen said patiently.

   Aragorn nodded.

   “Did you go find something else to do?”

   He hesitated at this but then nodded again, rubbing his teary eyes.

   “Then no one stole anything from you. You have to share the swing. Go on, there’s still ten minutes left of recess.”

   Gilraen shook her head dismally as the small boy scurried back outside. “I can’t wait until he goes to school,” she said.

   It was with no small amount of sorrow that Thranduil agreed to sign Legolas up for day care. Gilraen went to get the manager who was having tea in the staff room and turned out to be a man, stockily built and quite severe-looking, which surprised Thranduil. He introduced himself as Thorin Oakenshield, shaking Thranduil’s hand politely. He gave Legolas a broad grin and offered his hand, but the toddler shied away instantly.

   Thorin found some paperwork for Thranduil to fill out – it seemed he was equally excited to have someone new here. He and Thranduil exchanged details and arranged to have Legolas start on Wednesday, which terrified both father and son. But Thranduil convinced himself that it was for the best; he would not have Legolas’ social growth stunted on his account. It would soon become easy.

  

   But first it was hard. When Thranduil dropped Legolas off at day care on Wednesday, he cried all the way home and into Haldir’s arms, thinking only of Legolas’ hurt face peering at him through the window.

   Despite the distress, Thranduil found he was able to work more effectively without Legolas to look after. He spent the day changing the store around, moving displays and shelves and creating more space in the centre of the store for customers to walk around without the risk of tripping over. He found an embarrassing amount of cobwebs in the windows and dust underneath tables while Haldir finished the bridal order for the customer when she arrived to choose flowers and pay for her commission. 

   Thranduil went to fetch Legolas from the day care at three, at which point he was in a significantly better mood.

   “Did you have a good day?” he asked, carrying Legolas on his shoulders.

   The toddler clung to the bun in his hair, jabbering away about the wonderful first day he’d had, learning new games and making friends with Aragorn, who apparently owned _all_ the _Power Ranger_ action figures. Thranduil was pleased to hear it hadn’t been a traumatizing experiencing for Legolas. Regardless of the separation, that was all that really mattered.

   They were approaching the flower shop when Thranduil saw someone familiar stepping out of an old BMW outside Feren’s café. Setting Legolas onto the ground, he glimpsed sleek dark hair and a sharp chin. He launched himself into the shop, slamming the door behind him.

   “Elrond is here,” he breathed, his heart hammering.

   Haldir stared at his friend from behind the counter for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he burst into action and pressed his face up against the front window, casting his eyes down the street.

   “The Asian guy?” His breath fogged up the glass.

   “Korean.”

   “He’s hot."

   Haldir got a smack for this.

   “You should go out and say hello,” he insisted. “He might have changed since you last saw him. And, I mean, he _is_ Legolas’ dad.”

   “I’m his dad,” Thranduil snapped, seething. “Legolas doesn’t need Elrond in his life. He – he – he’s coming this way, oh f –”

   Thranduil grabbed Legolas and sprinted out of sight, leaving Haldir in the draft of his escape. He gently pushed Legolas into the flat and told him not to come out under any circumstances. Legolas looked worried, but did not argue, closing the door behind him.

   Thranduil’s heart quaked with fear; he could feel its tremor in his throat, disrupting his breathing. He sat near the top of the stairs, listening. Elrond must have seen him; with or without hormones, Thranduil wasn’t difficult to recognise, especially by someone who had know him for years. He cursed his refusal to cut his hair.

   There was a lengthy silence. Thranduil could hear Haldir moving around the shop, clearing his throat occasionally and preoccupying himself. A few moments later, the bell rang at the front door and someone entered, their shoes meeting the floorboards deliberately, as if cautious.  

   “Hello,” Haldir squeaked in greeting.

   “Hello. Did a woman come in here?” came Elrond’s voice. It was smooth and deep, just as Thranduil remembered. He felt sick at the sound of it, bringing back so many memories he’d rather forget.

   “A woman? No, a woman didn’t come in here,” Haldir said, keeping his voice steady.

   “You prick,” Thranduil whispered, unappreciative of Haldir’s nerve.

   “My mistake, then. I thought I saw someone I knew.”

   Curiosity overcame Thranduil then. He shuffled down a few steps noiselessly and peeked through the wooden bannister, hoping to get an eyeful of Elrond as he was leaving.

   He was different since Thranduil had last seen him. He was taller and thinner. His hair was a short, messy mop and he wore glasses, having never needed them before. He was handsome, too, if a bit unkempt. Gone were his boyish features and sparkling eyes; his face set firm now with his cheekbones high; his expression held a great deal of self-importance, but his loose t-shirt and ripped jeans did not.

   Thranduil watched as Elrond took one last look around and made to leave. But not before Thranduil’s foot slipped on the staircase and he fell forward a few steps, catching Elrond’s attention. Their eyes met briefly and Elrond’s confusion turned to shock. He addressed Thranduil by a name had not heard in years; one that made his stomach tense with disgust at the very sound of it.

  “She is here!”

   There was a scuffle below and suddenly Haldir came into view, blocking Elrond’s path to the stairs where Thranduil quickly recovered himself, beginning to climb them should he need to flee.

   “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Haldir growled, folding his arms. He was smaller than Elrond, but even Thranduil was afraid of him when it came to conflict. His arms were too well-formed to resist throwing a well-aimed punch if he wanted to.

   “Move – this has nothing to do with you,” said Elrond firmly, attempting to push passed.

   Haldir cocked out an elbow, hitting Elrond in the ribs rudely.

   “Fuck off.”

   Bad move. Enraged, Elrond shoved Haldir out of the way with excessive force and rounded onto the stairs, face-to-face now with Thranduil, who gripped the railing until his knuckles were white, afraid to move and afraid to run.

   Elrond stared at him with no small amount of astonishment, sizing him up. Thranduil wondered how different he appeared to someone who had known him since his teens. He secretly hoped Elrond was impressed, but doubted it.

   “Leave me alone,” he uttered, swallowing the lump in his throat. He was oddly aware of how deep his voice was now, holding none of the femininity that Elrond had known. Thranduil's fingers prickled dangerously, anger seizing him. 

   “Is that really you?” Elrond muttered, still staring. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself, obviously trying to avoid making a more definitive comment. “Can – can we talk?”

   Thranduil had expected Elrond to be disrespectful or insulting, but instead he was just curious and full of misunderstanding. Thranduil took a few steps down, eyeing his ex-boyfriend with spite. From the corner of his eye he saw Haldir disappear to the front of the shop where the bell chimed again.

   “No, Bard, this isn’t a good time,” Thranduil heard him say.

   “What’s going on? I saw –”

   “Please, just go.”

   Thranduil leaned sideways across the bannister just in time to see Bard being shepherded out of the shop, his eyebrows knitted together. Their eyes found each other and a small part of Thranduil wished he was staying.

   He turned back to Elrond, searching him for any sign of dishonesty or questionable motive.  

   “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Thranduil hissed.

  "Please? It’s been so long.” Elrond looked desperate.

   “Not long enough.”

   Elrond sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Look, I understand that you probably hate me, but I don’t think you know the whole story. Hell, your father told me you went to America. I never thought I’d see you again!”

   He said this almost with yearning, as though he had missed Thranduil in their time apart. It was not an easy thing to hear.

   “America?” Thranduil repeated slowly. “Why would he tell you that?”

   His parents had lied to Elrond – why?

   “I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know. Will you please talk with me?”

   Thranduil chewed his lip, conflicted. He had spent so long avoiding Elrond that it had become pure habit now – talking with him was going to make those three years feel like a waste. Even still, Thranduil wanted to know the truth – he wanted to know why his parents had lied, and why Elrond did not regard him with distaste or contempt.

   A hundred questions weighed on his mind and it was enough to convince him to talk, but Thranduil knew he wasn’t going to enjoy it. There was little joy to be had in confronting the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stand anyone being the bad guy in this fic, so Elrond gets his little redemption arc. Chapter 5 will be up soon :)  
> Thank you again to [Sammy](http://thranduilscars.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this chapter. You're the light of my life and the backbone of my writing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> patching up, third wheels, gossip, and poor judgement

Thranduil took Elrond away from his house and to Feren’s café, not yet eager to have Legolas involved, if at all. He knew Elrond had a right to at least see Legolas, but it would be complicated to explain who exactly Elrond was without lying. Legolas didn’t need such a burden so early in his life.

   Haldir went upstairs to make sure he was all right just as Thranduil left. He fell into step with Elrond nervously, flexing his fingers. He was wary and uncertain of what was going to happen now and it made him feel uneasy. It was odd; they had been best friends once upon a time – had shared secrets and soft words and gentle touches – and now they kept their eyes on the ground, as if only strangers.

   They entered the café and took a table in the far corner away from the window, sitting in silence until Feren arrived with coffee. He gave Thranduil a quizzical look, obviously trying to suss out who the newcomer was, but he was brushed away with a glare.

   For a long time it seemed neither man wished to speak first, even though they both had a great deal to say to one another. The quiet that surrounded them thickened, growing more and more awkward until finally, Elrond spoke.

   “What’s your name?” he said.

   Thranduil was taken aback. His hands tightened around the mug in his hands. He had not expected Elrond to ask this – in fact, he had not expected him to even be accepting of Thranduil’s situation. He had always believed Elrond would be unkind in the face of Thranduil’s gender should they ever meet, yet here he was proving Thranduil wrong. It was surreal and Thranduil wondered if he hated it more than what he _had_ expected.

   “Thranduil.”

   This made Elrond smile and the other man almost remembered why he had fallen in love with him in the first place. So singular was his beauty and softness that Thranduil could have almost forgiven him for leaving at all. Almost.

   “That’s a good name. It suits you.”

   Thranduil waited for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You’re not – you don’t think it's weird?”

   Elrond allowed himself a short laugh. “Of course not. I know I never took you seriously about your – er – gender. I didn’t think you’d actually do anything about it, honestly. But seeing you now just proves how blind I was. I should have been kinder.”

   He said this with great affection but Thranduil did not smile. He did not speak, unable to loosen the lump in his throat. Years of hatred made him want to be severe towards Elrond, but years of learning told him that wasn’t fair.

   Elrond’s face fell at Thranduil’s lack of reaction and he stared down, almost ashamed.

   “I went back, you know. I wanted to be there for you. But your parents said you had left for America to live with cousins and ‘straighten yourself out.’ It was only a few weeks after I ran off, which I can’t even begin to apologise for,” he said.

   Thranduil tried to steady his shaking hands around his coffee cup. His mother had never told him this. Perhaps she’d thought it for the best that Thranduil not go back to Elrond, and perhaps wisely so. Elrond leaving had hurt, but Thranduil believed his life had been easier without him.

   “I don’t have any cousins,” was all he managed.

   Elrond started at the sound of Thranduil's voice, but did not say what might be on his mind. He continued.

   “Your father said it was useless to try and contact you as you didn’t wish to see me. When I asked after the baby, he said you gave it away.”

   Thranduil’s heart skipped a beat, wondering if he ought to say otherwise. He didn’t want to, but knew there was every chance Elrond would find out anyway.

   “I kept him. My father didn’t entirely lie; I left soon after you did. I took Legolas and went to London.”

   Elrond’s eyes became wide and he looked up. “Legolas? Can I see him?”

   “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Thranduil countered.

   “But – but he’s my son.”

   “He’s _my_ son,” Thranduil said, his temper flaring.

   Elrond opened his mouth to argue, but obviously thought better of it. He nodded and changed the subject.

   “So, what’s the truth, then?” he said. “What really happened after I left?”

   Thranduil relayed the same story he had told Bard the previous day, only the short version. He kept it concise and without much detail; he didn’t really think Elrond was entitled to the luxury of hearing the long version.

   “All this time and you haven’t been far away,” said Elrond at the end.

   “Why have I not run into you sooner?” Thranduil wanted to know, genuinely curious.

   “I don’t really come down here, but my – my wife recently got a job at the tattoo parlour and I came to have a look at the place.”

   Thranduil’s breath hitched. “You have a wife?” he whispered, trying not to feel envious. It was a ridiculous feeling to have, but there had once been a time when Thranduil believed he would have taken up such a title. He was glad now that he hadn't, but still the thought ate at him.

   “Celebrían,” said Elrond. “She works with Bard, whom I think you are acquainted with?”

   Thranduil nodded stiffly, unable to offer an adequate response to the fact that Bard worked with his ex-boyfriend’s wife. It was utter nonsense. Of all the people to become friends with in this wretched town.

   Elrond cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

   “Actually, the three of us are going to the pub for drinks on Friday; you should come,” he supplied.

   Thranduil raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest sceptically. “You’re inviting me for drinks with your new wife?” He didn’t think he needed to address how disrespectful it was. And inappropriate given they had not seen each other for such a long time.

   Elrond became red. “I just – I don’t want us to go back to how we were. I don’t want to give you a reason to keep avoiding me. Not that I blame you, of course. But, I wanted to start asking for your forgiveness; I shouldn’t have left you.”

   Thranduil sighed, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t know what he wanted out of this, or if he wanted anything at all. He hadn’t spoken to Elrond in three years and had grown quite used to it. Becoming reacquainted again – possibly even to the point of friendship – was nothing short of horrifying. And Thranduil questioned Elrond’s motives; there was a chance he would try and get to Legolas in this way.

   Still, Thranduil didn’t see much of a way out. If Elrond was going to be here more often to see his wife, then he’d be seeing more of Thranduil in succession, which could either mean polite hello’s in the street, or never leaving the shop or even the flat again in order to avoid the man.

   “I don’t know,” Thranduil finally said. “I think it’s a bit soon.”

   “Perhaps, but I’m going away next week. I’d like you to formally introduce you to Celebrían before then. And I’m sure Bard will appreciate you saving him from being the third-wheel,” Elrond reasoned.

   “I don’t really drink –” Thranduil attempted, still unsure.

   “Neither does Celebrían; she’s – uh – she’s pregnant.”

   Thranduil didn’t respond, unable to the find the right words to express himself. He wasn’t exactly angry at Elrond for starting a new life – that’s what happened when separate paths were taken – but he was slightly jealous that his life was so much less put together. Elrond was married with a child on the way while Thranduil – disowned by his father and motherless – scraped together what he could with a flatmate and a three year-old boy living above a flower shop. Once, they had been equals; both with similar dreams and expectations place upon them. When Thranduil saw himself now, all he saw was someone lesser than the man who sat in front of him.

   They spent some time in the café, talking about their lives. Elrond spoke of his work at the hall and of the book he was writing – he had always wanted to be an author. Thranduil mostly listened, not wishing to disclose too much about his life, naturally guarded about sharing things about himself with people he didn’t trust. At the end, they exchanged phone numbers and Thranduil agreed to join Elrond at the pub on Friday, if a bit reluctantly.

   “It was good to see you,” Elrond said, smiling as they departed.

   Thranduil didn’t return the sentiment but simply nodded and walked away, his heart still racing as fast as it had an hour ago.

   When he returned to his shop, he found Haldir at the counter with Legolas, making a bouquet. Haldir looked up at his friend’s arrival, keen for news.

   “I’ve been invited to the pub on Friday,” was all Thranduil relayed, stretching his body across the counter as though it might ease his suffering. “He's friends with Bard, can you believe that?"

   “I don’t think that’s any fault of Bard’s, though. He seems like the kind of guy who is just friends with everyone, you know?” Haldir said smartly, accepting a flower from Legolas to add to the arrangement. “What did you find out?”

   “Mostly that Elrond was tricked out of my life by being told I went to America. Apparently he tried to make amends with me, but by the time he came back, I’d left for London and my father lied to him, saying I’d gone to America. I think he was too ashamed of me to admit I was still in the same country as him,” Thranduil said sourly.

   “Your dad is such a piece of work,” Haldir grumbled. “Does Elrond know about Legolas?”

   Legolas perked up at being mentioned. Thranduil offered him his hand to play with as recompense for not being spoken about, not to.

   “He does, but I wouldn’t let him see him. I don’t care how sorry Elrond is, he doesn’t deserve to be in Legolas’ life. We’ve been just fine without him, haven’t we, Leafy?”

   Legolas licked his father’s palm as an answer.

   “Thanks.”

   Thranduil wiped his hand on his jeans and went on to discuss Elrond’s pregnant wife and her work relationship with Bard. Acknowledging it out loud to someone else made it all devastatingly real. Thranduil didn’t want to admit it, but he was upset that Elrond was friends with Bard. Just once, he wanted something that had nothing to do with his ex. He had dared to hope that Bard would fit that category, but it seemed Thranduil couldn’t even have a friend without them being in some way associated with Elrond. It was like he couldn’t be escaped, no matter how far Thranduil ran.

   That night after dinner, Thranduil sent a text message to Bard.

-          _Apparently I’m joining you for drinks on Friday._

-          **Elrond told me you guys patched things up.**

-          _I wouldn’t say it like that, but sure._

-          **He seems excited.**

-          _I’m touched._

   When Friday came around, Thranduil was anxious. So anxious, in fact, that Haldir handed him a shot of scotch to calm down. Thranduil tried to protest, but Haldir threatened to tip it on his freshly washed hair if he didn’t drink. It tasted vile, but his hands stopped shaking afterwards.

   “Got everything?” Haldir prompted as Thranduil made for the door.

   “I think so,” he said, patting down his jeans for his wallet and phone and keys. He glanced at Haldir, who was dressed in sweats and a holey t-shirt, ready to begin a long night of watching Legolas and falling asleep on the couch again. “Thank you for babysitting. I probably don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”

   Haldir shrugged. “You don’t, but it’s okay. I’m just glad to see you going out. It’s not healthy to be cooped up at home all the time,” he said.

   “I _like_ being cooped up at home,” Thranduil returned. He wrapped his arms around his friend, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you all the same. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

   Haldir scoffed at this. “I’d rather you didn’t come home until tomorrow morning so I _really_ know you’ve had a good time, but have it your way.”

   Thranduil rolled his eyes and left for the pub, which was on the outskirts of the village. It was called _The Iron Hill_ because of its location and the building’s use as a smithy in the 18 th century before it was extended and refurbished into a pub. Thranduil jogged up to it, taking off his jacket at the door. He entered its warmth, spotting Dís and Dain behind the bar – cousins who owned the establishment and probably liked Thranduil a lot less than they pretended to.

   Thranduil swept the room with his eyes, searching for Bard or Elrond among the scrubbed wooden tables and red barstools.

   He was waved over to a table by the window where they sat with a fair-haired woman. She had a swollen belly and many tattoos. Thranduil was admittedly quite taken with her, though not surprised by her beauty. She was curvy and had a vivacious smile and really was very pretty; far prettier than Thranduil had ever been. But, upon reflection, he decided that he didn’t care.

   He sidled up next to Bard, smiling at him briefly. Elrond introduced Celebrían, who shook Thranduil’s hand and gave him a quizzical look that Thranduil recognised and loathed. Elrond must have told her Thranduil was transgender. It was unavoidable given their situation, of course, but is still made Thranduil uncomfortable. There was a reason he didn’t tell people he was born female and the look Celebrían had just given him was only one of those reasons.

   “So you’re the one Bard keeps visiting during his breaks,” she said cheekily, smirking at Bard with red lips.

   Thranduil squashed his confusion with difficultly, smiling crookedly. He felt like he was missing something between Bard’s pink face and Celebrían’s grin. Had she meant it when she said on that phone that Bard had been flirting? Thranduil couldn’t really distinguish the difference between flirting and talking. These days the line between the two just seemed to get thinner.

   “I just really like his flowers,” Bard mumbled.

   “I’ll have to come around and have a look at your work,” Celebrían said. “I could get some pretty arrangements for my baby shower.”

   “When are you due?” Thranduil asked, recalling his own excitement about Legolas’ due date. At least they had something in common that wasn’t their association with Elrond.

   “Mid-November,” she replied, beaming.

   “Do you know the sex yet?”

   “No, but they’re twins.”

   Thranduil watched as Elrond smiled at his wife and extended an arm around her shoulders. It was disconcerting to see him do to someone else what he had once done to Thranduil. It made him feel uncomfortable and a sideways glance to Bard told him that this was understood.

   “I’m getting a drink,” Bard said, standing up and stretching. He raised his eyebrows at Thranduil pointedly.

   Thranduil got the message gratefully. “Me too,” he said.

   “I didn’t realise how weird they were going to be. I honestly don’t know what Elrond hopes to achieve by inviting you here,” Bard said apologetically as they approached the bar. He leaned against the counter while other customers were served. It was busy on Friday nights since the pub was the only place worth going to for entertainment.

   “He probably wants to rub his happiness in my face,” said Thranduil peevishly. “He can be like that. But it doesn’t matter. How long have you all known each other?” He was not keen to dwell on the fact that he was actually out with his ex-boyfriend and said ex-boyfriend's pregnant wife. It was easier to consider it all in abstract.

   “A years or so,” said Bard. “I know Celebrían through school because we did art together, and my ex-wife knows Elrond because they once worked together on some kind of newspaper or magazine – my ex is a journalist – and when we were still together, we introduced them and the four of us were like those absurd ‘couple friends’ that do groceries and drink espressos together. But then I moved here and Celebrían opened the parlour with me since she lives so close and was looking for work. Basically it was all very country-club-esque and I hated it.”

   Thranduil laughed at this. “No, it doesn’t really seem like your scene. I wouldn’t guess you to be friends if I didn’t know you.”

   Bard shrugged a shoulder. “We’re more just colleagues, really. I’m better friends with Arathorn and Gilraen because I've known them forever. I heard you met Gil at the day care. I forgot you went there.”

   Thranduil nodded. “She’s very nice. The manager is a bit… different,” he remarked.

   Bard barked a laugh. “Thorin? He’s a real softy – terrifying – but a softy. I once got into a fist-fight with him over whose kid was smarter.”

   “Do you fight everyone you meet?” Thranduil said incredulously.

   “Why, you want to go?” Bard quipped, holding up his fists jokingly. “I won that fight, I’ll have you know.”

   “Wait, does Thorin have kids on top of all the ones at his day care?”

   Bard nodded, waving to Dís who bustled over to them, wiping her brown hands on an apron.

   “ _Guinness_ please, Dís,” he said before returning to Thranduil, who quickly asked for a ginger beer. “And sort of; Thorin has two nephews that he looks after at the day care. Your kids are Kili and Fili, right Dís?”

   Dís returned with their drinks and shot Bard a critical look before casting her eyes to the ceiling and sighing. “I wish I could keep them at that wretched day care,” she said darkly. “They’re destroying my house with their bare hands. I don’t know how my brother controls them. I’d trade them for his boy, Frodo, any day.”

   “Frodo?” Thranduil wondered.

   “Yeah, Thorin’s nephew- _in-law_. His boyfriend took him in when his parents died and they’re raising him together like unconventional fun uncles,” Bard clarified.

   “Thorin has a boyfriend?!” Thranduil exclaimed, clapping a hand over his mouth in amazement. “You’re not serious?!”

   Bard hummed with mirth. “You should see him, too. You think I’ve got a lot of tattoos?you should see Bilbo. I couldn’t put a price tag on all the stickers he’s got. But he’s funny. He bad-mouths all the mums at the day care when they’re not around and Thorin looks at him like the sun shines out of his arse.”

   “How do you know so much about everyone after only being here a few weeks?” Thranduil demanded, impressed.

   “You’d be surprised how many people around here got tattoos when I opened. I think about eighty-percent of everyone in this bar has a tattoo done by me or Celebrían,” Bard said, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Your friend Haldir got one as well.”

   Thranduil choked on his drink. “He didn’t tell me that! What did he get?”

   “A pansy.”

   “As in the flower?”

   Bard nodded.

   Thranduil wanted to see that. Pansy, indeed. It suited Haldir’s personality.

   “Come on, we should get back before they start sucking face,” Bard said, jerking his head for Thranduil to follow him back to their table.  

   The rest of the night panned out slowly, lost to dull roars and empty pints and the residue of spilled beer on fingertips and napkins. Thranduil decided he neither liked nor disliked Celebrían, but did find her singularly annoying. She spoke too much about Elrond and their babies, understandable though it was. She used the wrong pronouns for Thranduil twice and then tried to compensate by affectionately referring to him with heavily gendered terms at the end of every sentence, which only made his blood boil.

   Despite this, she was very kind and lovely and Thranduil was rather happy for Elrond to have found someone so well suited to him.

   It was eleven-thirty when they were practically kicked out of the pub. Dain didn’t go to any effort to show how exhausted he was and Thranduil thanked him and apologised for not leaving sooner. He and Celebrían ushered a very drunk Bard and Elrond out onto the street. The men stumbled, laughing at a private joke and hanging off each other loosely.

   “Are you all right to get home?” Thranduil said to Celebrían, attempting to be courteous.  

   “Yes, I have the car parked over there. Elrond will probably fall asleep on the way,” she said. “It was nice to meet you!”

   “You too,” Thranduil returned half-heartedly, detaching Bard from Elrond’s side. “Alright, Trouble, I’ll take you home.”

   “I can get home by myself, thank you,” Bard said childishly.

   “Perhaps, but I’ll sleep better knowing you got there safely,” Thranduil insisted. “Where do you live?”

   Bard slurred an address and then tried to climb onto Thranduil’s back for a ride, but only ended up on the pavement with a hurt expression. Thranduil pulled him back to his feet and didn’t let go of his hand.

   “Hold my hand; I don’t want you running off and getting lost.”

   Bard gripped Thranduil’s hand with excessive enthusiasm, swinging their arms vigorously.

   “I’m not that drunk,” he said. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

   “Still, it’s dark and you might get run over.”

   “There are no cars.”

   “Then let go of my hand if you’re so confident.”

   Bard stopped swinging their arms, but he didn’t let go.

   They walked in silence for a while. Thranduil navigated the streets, looking for the one Bard lived on, wondering what sort of house he had to keep his thoughts occupied.

   He was very aware of how close Bard was walking and of the way his thumb drew circles on Thranduil’s wrist. Their hands soon became sweaty, but neither of them relaxed their grip. Thranduil realised it had been foolish of him to have made such a suggestion, unaware of the connotations it held. He took a deep breath and tried not to notice the way Bard was staring at him.

   “This is it.”

   Thranduil stopped, looking up at a modern two-storey building. It was grey and white and ugly. There were a few more houses next to it that looked exactly the same.

   “It’s so quiet,” Thranduil said, noticing the dark windows and remembering that Bard lived practically alone.

   Bard didn’t say anything and went through the front gate, finally letting go of Thranduil’s hand. Thranduil flexed his fingers gingerly, following, his face growing hot despite the coolness of the night.

   “Do you want to come in for a drink?” Bard said after a moment.

   Thranduil’s feet scuffed against the steps as he halted, dread filling his stomach. He wanted to accept, but knew better.

   “No,” he said.  “I’m sorry. I should be getting back. Haldir is babysitting and I don’t want to keep him up too late.”

   Bard licked his lips, inclining his head sadly.

   “Well, I’m glad you were here tonight; I can’t stand being a third-wheel around those two,” he said.

   Thranduil managed a short laugh. “Yeah, I can see why.”

   “You weren’t uncomfortable? Being around Elrond must have been strange.”

   “A little bit. But at least it’s over and done with.”

    Bard shifted his weight from one foot to another, obviously wishing to say something, but unable to find the courage to. Thranduil decided to take the initiative for him as he was eager to go home.

   “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets where he couldn’t feel them trembling.

   “Tomorrow? Oh, right, yeah. I’m not working, so what time suits you?” Bard asked. He seemed distracted, but not from the alcohol.

   “I close at two on Saturdays, so after then? I’ll text you when I’m coming over.”

   “Okay.”

   More silence crept at their toes, finding its way into their fingers. Thranduil wished Bard would stop opening his mouth to speak only to close it again because every time he did meant a further delay to saying goodnight.

   Thranduil tried to ignore what Bard wanted, as obvious as it was. He didn’t think it unexpected but he was still rather surprised. Of all the people Bard could invite into his home, he chose Thranduil. People usually changed their minds about him when they found out he was transgender, but not Bard. Thranduil realised then that he would be more enthusiastic about confessing any feelings if he wasn’t so averse to the idea of walking through that door. He knew what it meant to be invited in for a drink and he didn’t fancy talking his way out of it when he could avoid it altogether.

   It made him sad. Thranduil liked Bard; perhaps not quite as much as Bard wished to be liked, but enough for Thranduil to feel guilty about turning him down. Still, he wasn’t sure what Bard wanted out of this. Thranduil himself didn’t even know what he wanted.

   He took a step back on the stairs to finally say goodnight, but this was prevented when Bard took a step forward. For once taller, he leaned close over Thranduil and met his lips shakily. He had been quick enough for Thranduil not to realise what was happening at first, but when he did, he stiffened and inhaling sharply, drawing back. Bard’s expression became suddenly horrified and he bit his lip, straightening up.

   “Sorry,” he murmured.

   Before Thranduil could speak, Bard fled into his house and shut the door, leaving Thranduil alone in the dark, his lips tingling slightly.

 

   He went home in a daze, his heart leaping to his throat with every step. He didn’t know why he had rejected the kiss. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that he couldn’t. Something was holding him back.

   Thranduil ran a few streets, trying not to think about it. He thought well enough of Bard to believe he wouldn’t be used as a sexual experiment, but Thranduil couldn’t shake the feeling that knowing a trans person was probably something of a novelty to Bard and that he would want to understand it more… intimately.

   At this thought, nausea gripped Thranduil and he slowed to a walk. He didn’t blame Bard for being curious, even if he wasn’t, but Thranduil had already indulged curiosity – his and other people’s – and it was impossible. There was no pleasure to be had in having sex with anyone. All that came of it was self-loathing and repulsiveness and it wasn’t worth it; not for anyone.

   Still, that didn’t mean Thranduil would forget the softness of Bard’s lips, even for the second he had felt them. Maybe one day he would have the courage to kiss Bard back.

   Returning home, Thranduil found Haldir lying on the floor of the lounge room with a sleeping Legolas on his chest. He held a book above his head, the turning of the pages the only thing that could be heard. Thranduil kicked off his shoes and joined Haldir on the rug, their heads the only thing they could see of each other.

   “Bard kissed me,” Thranduil said without saying hello.

   Haldir didn’t speak for a moment. He put his book down and turned his heard, his honey-eyes scrutinizing Thranduil’s icy blue ones. He returned his gaze to the ceiling, thoughtful.

   “How was it?” he said.

   “I didn’t kiss him back.”

   Haldir sighed heavily, jostling Legolas slightly. “It didn’t change your mind about him?”

   “It’s not that simple,” Thranduil protested carefully. “I really like him and I enjoy his company, but I’m afraid he’s not after my company too.”

   “Was he drunk?” Haldir asked.

   Thranduil nodded.

   “He probably wasn’t thinking clearly, then. From what I’ve seen, I think he genuinely likes you. You know how guys can be; they get one perverted thought in their head and they can’t shake it when they’re drunk. Don’t take it personally; I’m sure he won’t.”

   “You say that like I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Thranduil pouted.

   “Because you don’t. You’ve probably never had a perverted thought in your life,” Haldir joked.

   “Oh, and the human being on your chest isn’t the result of perversions? Sometimes I wonder if you even know who you’re talking to,” said Thranduil.

   Haldir hummed with laughter, twirling a lock of Legolas’ hair around his finger. “I suppose you’re right. But still, I don’t think you’re perversions are quite the same as Bard’s. I wouldn’t worry about it; he’ll probably apologise tomorrow, if he's any decent sort of person.”

   “Oh, God. I have to go his house tomorrow,” Thranduil moaned, running a hand over his face. “I can’t face him so soon.”

   “And you think he’ll want to face you? Trust me, Thran; I’ve been in his position. He’s a brave man if he doesn’t cancel on you first.”

   It took a while for Thranduil to fall asleep that night. His thoughts spun with the events of the past week. First Elrond's appearance, now Bard's affections; Thranduil wasn’t having any luck keeping his head down. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to see Elrond as often as it was implied, and that Bard would forgive him for feeling differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos!  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anger, arguments and running away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my absolute best not to make certain characters less liked than others in this fic, but it's hard because you need a source of conflict somewhere. Anyway, it's been a whole month since this was updated last so I figured it was time I did that.

The next afternoon Thranduil could be found lying on his back in bed, thinking. He couldn’t stop wanting to call his mother to talk about her death. It was a natural instinct that he couldn’t seem to shake. After so many years, he still longed for her company during hard times.

   He was angry; angry that he hadn’t been told sooner and angry that he hadn’t been invited to the funeral, whenever it was or had already been. He only wished to be given the chance to say goodbye to the person who had accepted and loved him when no one else had. Yet he was allowed no such consolation and lacked the confidence to show up to his old home with a (very long) list of demands for his father.

   He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Haldir knocked on the door and entered, letting Legolas in as well. The boy scrambled up onto the bed and tangled himself in Thranduil’s hair and bed sheets. Thranduil realised Legolas had not even known his grandmother; she had held him only a handful of times before Thranduil had all but fled. He felt guilty for depriving her of her only grandchild.

   “I thought you were going to Bard’s today?” Haldir said, leaning against the doorframe with a pointed look.

   Thranduil peeked at him from behind a book, deciding not to reply.

   “Are you running away again?” Haldir accused.

   “Maybe,” Thranduil mumbled through the paper.

   “Bard is the one who was drunk and tried to kiss you, but _you’re_ going to avoid him? You’re unbelievable.”

   Thranduil sat up, glaring at his friend. “I rejected the kiss and contributed to this mess.”

   “It’s not a mess if you’re willing to clean it up,” Haldir retorted, crossing his arms. “Go. You made him and his kid a promise.”

   “Don’t guilt me into going! I don’t owe them anything, okay? Just drop it.”

   Haldir threw up his hands and left the room. Thranduil sent Bard a text that he wasn’t going to make it and was then persuaded into playing outside with Legolas seeing as the weather was so nice. They went downstairs and played hide-and-seek until Thranduil got so bored and tired he fell asleep in his hiding spot behind the shed.

   When Legolas found and woke him, Bard had replied.

-          **Don’t worry about it. I’m really hung-over and I didn’t get the kids this weekend after all.**

   Thranduil felt pity for Bard. He couldn’t even stand sending Legolas to day care and so couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have your kids every second weekend only. It wasn’t right; Bard seemed like a good father and deserved to be with his children all the time. Thranduil almost wanted to say he should not have moved so far from them, but then he and Thranduil might never have met. It was a selfish thought, but it made Thranduil smile a little.

 

   Thranduil knew he was going to have to face Bard eventually, but he did not expect it to be quite as soon as Monday. When it arrived, Thranduil felt something was amiss in village. It was colder, perhaps, and there was beginning to be more leaves on the ground than on the trees. Autumn came so quickly it always took folk by surprise. But it wasn’t the change in seasons that was odd.

   Thranduil noticed it first when he left the store to get coffee. Théoden, the watchmaker, paused as he entered his shop next door and stared at Thranduil as he went passed. Perplexed, Thranduil straightened his t-shirt and caught his reflection in a window to see if there was anything unwelcome about his appearance, but there wasn’t.

   He shrugged it off, going into the café. Feren took his usual order but didn’t concentrate on making the coffee. He gazed at Thranduil curiously instead and didn’t foam the milk properly. Thranduil dared a glance at the customers in the shop and saw that half of them (specifically the regular patrons) were looking at him too. He caught one person whisper something to their friend, not bothering to take their eyes off Thranduil. He didn’t understand – had word spread about Bard’s affection for him? Was everyone really going to gossip about it? How pathetic.

   Shaking his head with irritation, Thranduil went back to the flower shop.         

   “Everyone is staring at me,” he grumbled to Haldir, putting his apron back on.

   “Like, properly staring?”

   Thranduil nodded, his fingers itching at not knowing why. Usually people left him alone – he was liked well-enough if he was even paid any attention, so why the sudden interest in him now?

   “Here, I’ll try and find out why. Nimrodel knows all the gossip around here. Hell, she’s probably the one spreading it.”

   Haldir went down the street to the bakery with instructions from Thranduil to buy a loaf of bread and some donuts since he was going to the effort to suss out what people were saying about the florist.

   He was gone for a while and Thranduil occupied himself by cleaning the counter, pulling at his hair nervously. It was quiet. He still wasn’t used to Legolas being at day care; it seemed he had nothing left to do with himself if he wasn’t looking after his son.

   When Haldir returned, he was very pale and he hadn’t even touched the donuts he had bought, which was unlike him. Thranduil watched him, nerves building tightly, suffocating him. He could honestly say he didn’t care what people thought about him, but if Haldir was as white as he was, then it wasn’t going to be good.

   “What? What is it? Spit it out!”

   Haldir hesitated for a moment, but then he said, “They know. The whole town knows you’re trans.”

  Fear crept up under Thranduil’s skin. It pained his head and made his fingers tremble. His vision blurred. He couldn’t think. So much hiding and lying and fleeing only to be found out anyway. But how? Why? Who?

   Thranduil decided almost immediately that he didn’t want to know. He didn’t care who had said anything or how they had discovered his secret, he just wanted to run. His body hummed with restlessness. He felt the need to escape.

   “You don’t think Bard could have done this?” said Haldir, breaking the silence.

   Thranduil pulled himself from his thoughts, his face twisting with confusion. Of course… this must have started because Bard had told someone. But why? Was this revenge for being rejected? God, Thranduil hated boys.

   “You need to call him and ask. You can’t let someone out you like this. And if it wasn’t him, maybe he knows who.”

   Thranduil whined. There was nothing worse than confrontation, but Haldir was right. He couldn’t let this slide. 

   Thranduil picked up the phone on the counter with the sole purpose of finding out the truth, _not_ lose his temper. But he was starting to feel the fury settle in his stomach. If it had been Bard to spill the truth on him, he would be hard-pressed to keep his emotions at bay.

   “ _Esgaroth Tattoos;_ this is Bard.”

   There was a thump of silence as Thranduil struggled to think of what to say. He had to be firm; Bard had to know he was pissed.

   “What did you say?” he said.

   “Thranduil? What’s up?”

   He took a deep breath. “Have you been telling people that I’m trans?” he asked patiently. Haldir, who was kneeling in front of a tub of tulips, looked up at this, intent on listening.

   “What? No way – why would I spread that?” Bard sounded slightly offended. “Why? Does – does everyone know? How?”

   “Nimrodel has been telling everyone and well, that information has to have some kind of source, because I certainly didn’t tell her,” Thranduil said icily.

   “It wasn’t me!” Bard cried defensively. “Swear on my life.”

   “Then who was it?”

   “How should I know?”

   “Look, Bard, it’s not that I don’t believe you, but you’re the only person I can possibly blame right now, especially after the other night,” Thranduil reasoned.

   “Hey! No, that’s not fair. I wouldn’t retaliate to your rejection like a petty teenager,” Bard protested.

   “That doesn’t really inspire much confidence.”

   “Are you seriously trying to pin this on me? I would never tell anyone, Thranduil. I respect you too much for that.”

   “I’m touched. Look, please just be honest with me; is there anyone – _anyone at all_ that you might have told?” Thranduil asked, trying not to sound desperate.

   “No. I was going to vaguely mention you to my ex-wife on Saturday because of Bain, but she didn’t show. Otherwise I haven’t –” Bard cut off mid-sentence. Thranduil could hear someone speaking in the background. When they stopped, Bard continued. “Do you think Elrond might have said something?”

   Thranduil’s breath caught. “He – he can’t have. He doesn’t know anyone here,” he said. “I don’t think –”

   Thranduil felt his heart seize, unable to go on. It was the only possible explanation and it made him want to be sick. How like Elrond, to show up out of the blue and spoil everything.

   “He’s picking up Celebrían at four. You can come over and ask him,” Bard offered gently.

   Thranduil gulped down a fresh wave of fear. He agreed and hung up, turning to Haldir.

   “Bard thinks it might have been Elrond. You didn’t ask Nimrodel who told her?” he said.

   Haldir shook his head. “I had to eavesdrop while she was whispering to another customer. Everyone knows I live with you.”

   Thranduil groaned, kneading his eyes to relieve some stress. He hated this; being outed. It never got easier or less scary, just more exhausting.

 

   At three-forty-five, Haldir picked up Legolas from day care (Thranduil refused to go). When he came back, Thranduil put on a jacket and went down the street to Bard’s place. He avoided eye contact with the few people he passed and kept his head down. He was less mad, having had the time to simmer down, but now he was terrified. He had tricked himself into believing that being outed wouldn’t happen here; not this time. But it seemed no matter where he lived or went people had their ways of finding out. Perhaps it would have been easier just to be honest about his situation, but reactions towards him when he said anything before had always been negative and it frightened him. Sometimes it was safer to stay hidden; to stay unnoticed.

   Thranduil had never been to Bard’s tattoo parlour. It was very humble; the entire front of the shop was glass windows, which let light stream into a small room. The walls were a soft green and inside sat three leather recliners separated by blue fabric dividers, almost like a hospital, but not so unsettling. At the entrance there was a counter where a cash register and computer were kept and two rows of shelves that supported a stereo and curious trinkets and toys. The ink and guns were kept at the back on another counter with a sink. More rows of shelves above it housed hundreds of colourful pots.

   Bard poked his head out from behind a door to the left at Thranduil’s arrival. He waved good-naturedly and offered Thranduil a drink.

   “No, thank you. No clients today?”

   Bard shook his head. “I’ve been so bored. Everyone in town has a tattoo, so now I’m back to sticking up flyers and excessively tagging my photos on Instagram to get people interested,” he said. “I didn’t realise how tiring running a business could be.”

   Thranduil inclined his head seriously. “Tell me about it. I was flat broke for my first two months," he said with a grimace.

   “You’re doing pretty well now, aren’t you?” Bard said.

   “I suppose so. Word got around. It seems to be doing that a lot,” Thranduil said sourly, unable to help himself.

   Bard chewed his lip, his eyes solemn.

   “It really wasn’t me,” he said.

   Thranduil believed him this time, wondering if it was the look in Bard’s eyes or just the simple fact that it was being said in person. Or maybe Thranduil just really _wanted_ to believe him.

   “It’s fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened,” said Thranduil.

   “I’m sorry,” said Bard sympathetically. “It’s not right. Something like this should be told on your terms.

   Thranduil shrugged. “The damage is done. I’m going to wait and see how bad it gets before I decide whether or not to leave.”

   Bard’s face fell. “You’ll leave?”

   “Haldir uses the term ‘running away’,” Thranduil said, smiling derisively.

   Bard didn’t respond, but looked very sad. Guilt sat in Thranduil’s stomach uncomfortably, but he was distracted by the appearance of Celebrían when she emerged from the kitchen, wobbling about in her high heels. She beamed at Thranduil when she saw him.

   Thranduil found Celebrían to be a little strange. She seemed far too relaxed about the fact that she worked down the street from her husband’s ex-girlfriend who was actually a boy and had a child with him. When Thranduil thought of it like that, he was quite amazed that Celebrían behaved the way she did towards him; with enthusiasm and joy, rather than contempt and ignorance.

   As was typical of her, Celebrían launched into a conversation with barely a breath taken, not even bothering to properly say hello.

   “So, I was talking to Nimrodel yesterday – that lovely girl at the bakery? Oh, you know her! Of course you do – and she was saying how incredible it is that your hair sits like that. It’s so thick and you pull off that messy-bun so perfectly I could almost be jealous of it. Anyway, I said that it was probably because you never cut your hair during your – er, what was that word you used? – transition! and I wanted to ask you if that was true? Because I heard you can end up with male-pattern baldness – see, like Bard? – but you don’t really have that.”

   “Wait, what?”

   Thranduil’s heartbeat quickened and he stared at Celebrían with disbelief. Of all the big fat mouths in the world, he somehow hadn’t expected hers to be the source of the gossip about him. And of course! why wouldn’t it be, when she was so obviously engrossed by the very idea of someone being _actually_  transgender? She looked at Thranduil like he was an alien, a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue but not enough bravery to ask them. Of course it had been her.

   Seeing as Thranduil had been stunned into speechlessness, Bard quickly took over, having also realised what she had done.

   “Celebrían, you can’t do that,” he said in a tone that was far too calm for Thranduil’s liking.

   “Do what?” she asked.

   “You just outed him to everyone,” Bard explained, crossing his arms pointedly.

   Celebrían’s eyes went wide and she turned to Thranduil, her expression mortified. “You’re not out?!”

   “Of all the people to tell, you told Nimrodel?” Thranduil finally blurted, pointing uselessly in the general direction of the bakery. “It wasn’t your secret to share!”

   “I didn’t know it was a secret!” Celebrían squeaked, her bottom lip trembling. “You didn’t say so!”

   Thranduil’s face twisted furiously, fighting the urge to shout. True, he hadn’t been articulate, and so Celebrían wasn’t really at fault, but by God he was still _livid._

   “Thranduil, I’m so sorry! I honestly didn’t mean to. I just wanted to start a conversation – you know, people don’t really know me around here, so I was hoping to make some friends – and Nimrodel just brought you up and I was so excited because I actually had something to say!”

   “By why would you want to talk about me?” Thranduil wheezed, utterly beside himself.

   “People find you interesting,” Celebrían said.

   “What?”

   “It’s true,” piped up Bard. His mouth was twitching, as though he was forcing back a smirk. “And, though Celebrían is responsible, you’re officially _the_ most interesting person this town has to talk about.”

   “What?” Thranduil repeated.

   “Come off it, Thranduil. You’re a good-looking florist who keeps to himself, but you have a cute kid and a wonderful talent for bouquets. People have been dying to know more about you ever since you got here, and now they finally do,” Bard concluded lightly.

   “I don’t want people know things about me!” Thranduil seethed, his temper properly rising now. “It’s none of their business… I’m - I'm not their concern. There is a reason I don’t talk about myself, and this is why. People stare at me and whisper about me and I’ve had enough! I had a good and peaceful life here, and you’ve gone and single-handedly dismantled it!”

   Celebrían took a step back from Thranduil, looking hurt. Thranduil didn’t care. He was angry; he was furious. Nothing, _nothing_ could repair the damage she had done. It didn’t matter that her intentions had been innocent, Celebrían had still outed him to everyone and it was happening again; the whispering and the pointing and the questions. It was all happening again, just like Thranduil knew it would.

   “What’s going on?”

   Elrond had arrived, entering the parlour and assessing what he was seeing with some concern. Thranduil turned on him, his blood boiling, glad to have someone reasonable to shout at.

   “Your _wife,_ ” he spat, unable to stop the malice in his tone as he said the word. It felt wrong in his mouth. “Has opened her big mouth and told everyone I’m trans.”

   Elrond’s eyes darted to Celebrían in surprise. “Why would you do that?” he said.

   “I did mean to! I had no idea nobody else knew,” she whimpered, looking on the verge of tears.

   “This is all your fault!” Thranduil said to Elrond through gritted teeth. “You finally show up here with your tail between your legs and a wife on your arm and ruin everything, _again_.”

   “You’re blaming me?” Elrond exclaimed, incensed. “What the fuck is your problem? It’s not the end of the world.”

   Thranduil laughed bitterly. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t know how many times I’ve had to go through this shit.”

   “Well maybe I would understand a little better if you’d had the sense to call me and get back in touch!”

   “I wouldn’t have been too pissed to call you if you hadn’t left me in the first place! This all starts with you, Elrond. You think you can just walk back into my life like nothing happened? You – you broke my heart! How do you honestly expect me to blame anyone else?”

   Before either Elrond or Thranduil could get another word out, Bard intervened. He grabbed Thranduil by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen, slamming the door shut.

   “You need to relax,” he growled.

   “You’re not siding with them!” Thranduil shouted, making for the door to finish what he had started, even if it meant using his fists.

   Bard held the door with a strong arm and then leaned against it. “I’m not siding with anyone,” he said, his eyes boring into Thranduil’s. “I’m just making sure a physical fight doesn’t break out in my place of work.”

   “I’ll take it outside, then,” Thranduil muttered, grabbing the door handle and tugging it pointlessly. Bard had thrown his entire weight against it.

   “Look, Thranduil. You can’t yell at Celebrían for not knowing any better. And you can’t bring Elrond into this because of your history. You’re just blaming people for the sake of blaming them.”

   Thranduil kept pulling at the handle, wishing he didn’t have to listen. Tears pricked his eyes dangerously, his heart pounding erratically. Bard’s voice was unnaturally calm and still. Thranduil didn’t know if it was making things better or worse.

   “I know you’re upset. Dude, this sucks, but you have to relax. Yelling at everyone isn’t going to solve anything. You’re making this a whole lot harder than it needs to be.”

   Thranduil’s banged his head on the door in defeat, resting there as he began to cry. “I can’t go through this again,” he sobbed. “I just can’t.”

   Beside him he felt Bard stand up straight and wrap his arms around Thranduil’s waist, resting his head easily on his shoulder.

   “You can. And this time you’re not allowed to run away,” Bard murmured. “This time you’re going to stay and you’re going to making everyone feel bad for being assholes.”

   Thranduil brought his arms up around Bard’s neck and sniffled there for a moment, taking deep breaths.

   “Why are you being so nice to me?” he said then.

   Bard drew back, his expression puzzled. “I like you. And I’m a nice guy.” He said this last part with some sarcasm.

   “You’re a wanker,” Thranduil berated thickly, wiping his eyes.

   Bard nodded. “Also true.”

   Thranduil didn’t really understand what Bard meant by liking him, but he accepted it for what it was, because he liked Bard too, even if it probably wasn’t in the same way. He let Bard make him a cup of tea and they sat in the little kitchen together, never making eye contact, but sometimes just missing it. The kiss from the other night hovered in the air, not quite talked about, but not quite unacknowledged either. Just there.

   “I feel bad for getting so angry now,” Thranduil said, curling his legs into his chest.

   “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’ll understand. Besides, you have a right to be angry,” Bard reasoned.

   “I guess,” Thranduil shrugged. “But I should probably apologise.”

   “Probably.”

   Thranduil finally looked at Bard, catching his eye, wondering what he was thinking. It had been a long time since Thranduil had made a friend – not since he and Haldir had met – and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. But Bard _was_ nice, and he made Thranduil feel better. Without even trying, it seemed.

   Thranduil started when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out of his jeans and read a distressed text message from Haldir.

   “I should get back,” he said, standing up. Bard did the same. “Thank you for talking some sense into me. I don’t think that would have ended well if you hadn’t been there.”

   “It didn’t really start out well either,” Bard mused, opening the door. Celebrían and Elrond had gone, which was a relief. “But, you’re welcome.”

   Thranduil thanked Bard again and went home, jogging down the street to get there faster. He found Haldir outside the shop starting to pack up the displays in the street.

   “Geez, what took you so long? Legolas is being the absolute worst. He’s such a monster,” he moaned.

   “He's only like that with you because he knows he can get away with it,” Thranduil said, looking inside the shop to see Legolas pulling off flower-heads again. “Hey! I see what you’re doing, you little twerp! Go upstairs!”

   Legolas grinned devilishly and scampered upstairs, leaving a little pile of petals in his wake.

   “So what happened?”

   Thranduil helped Haldir with closing and told him, but made sure to leave out some of the ‘conversation’ he’d had with Elrond. He was admittedly ashamed for behaving so foully. He was miserable about his situation (again), but it hadn’t been a good excuse to fly off the handle like that.

   Haldir’s expression remained impassive when Thranduil finished talking. They drew the blinds and went upstairs where Legolas was watching cartoons.

   “Are you going to move again?” Haldir asked.

   Thranduil glanced at him, unsure of how to answer. A part of him desperately still wanted to. Perhaps it was just out of habit, but running away was like second nature to Thranduil now.

   He took a deep breath and remembered what Bard had said. And Thranduil would be sorry, he believed, to leave Bard behind, as well as his lovely shop.

   “I’m going to stay,” he said. “I like it here.”

   Haldir perked up at this. “For real? Is it because a ‘certain someone’ is changing your mind?” he teased.

   Thranduil scowled. “You’re really getting on my nerves, you know that? Bard and I are just friends, and that’s enough. But, yes, if you must know, he convinced me to stay.”

   “Ha!” Haldir cried triumphantly. “You do like him.”

   “I’m going to need you to stop talking now,” Thranduil said with a sigh, sinking into the couch beside Legolas. “How was day care, Leafy?”

   “Good,” Legolas said absently, his attention on the television.

   Thranduil rolled his eyes but joined his son, deciding that the cartoon adventures of a stretchy dog and a melodramatic kid were a good use of his time and energy seeing as he didn’t have the strength to think about adult things anymore. Just for a little while, he didn't want to dwell on how much things were going to suck from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! This fic really has a special place in my heart and it brings me so much happiness to know that people are reading and enjoying it :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> talks, walks, and not asking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes! another chapter. Lots happens and I'm sorry if it's a Bit Much, but each thing follows another, and I had to get some stuff out of the way, so this chapter is basically tying up some loose ends before the Real Plot begins, some of which is foreshadowed in this chapter. Anyway, thank you for reading!

Thranduil climbed the steps of a humble house of red brick. It was a strange combination of new and old, looking like something out of a cartoon.

    He hesitated at the door, first curled to knock, but his will unable to move it. He glanced back at Bard who was leaning against his motorcycle on the street, watching and waiting. He gestured for Thranduil to go on.

    Thranduil knocked timidly, bringing up the bouquet of flowers in his hand to partially cover his face. He hated this; apologising. He knew it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make him any less embarrassed about it. Admitting defeat did not come easy to him.

    The door was answered by Elrond, who looked rather dishevelled, his glasses slightly askew and his hair sticking out oddly as though he had just woken up. He blinked blearily, confused by the half-bouquet, half-person at his door. Thranduil offered the flowers, not looking Elrond in the eye.

    “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

    He could hear Bard chuckle behind him.

    Elrond laughed as well, taking the flowers. “These are really pretty,” he remarked, observing them with admiration. “Do you want to come in?”

    Thranduil didn’t, but knew it would be rude to object. He turned to Bard again for approval and the other man stood from his bicycle, walking over to the gate. “I have to pick up my kids from the station, so I’ll come and get you after, okay?” he said.

    Thranduil nodded, feeling like a petulant child that needed to be looked after. It was like Bard was leaving him at Elrond’s for a play-date.

    Grumbling silently, Thranduil went into the house, trying not to admire how clean and homely it was. The furniture matched perfectly even if it didn’t belong to a set and there was an old grandfather clock in the hallway that ticked peacefully. Thranduil followed Elrond to a brightly-lit kitchen at the end of the hall and stood awkwardly by a table there while Elrond found a vase to put the flowers in.

    “Where’s Celebrían?” Thranduil asked. He didn’t particularly feel like apologising to just Elrond when it was Celebrían who deserved it more.

    “She’s walking,” Elrond replied, setting the vase of flowers on the table bedside Thranduil.

    “Should I come back?”

    The two men looked at each other, a familiarity there that was not as well-received as it once had been. Thranduil knew he didn’t have to hate Elrond anymore, but he couldn’t help it. Their history and mistakes still stood and he couldn’t forget them; he wasn’t ready to forgive just yet.

    Elrond seemed to pick up on this because he said, “I can tell her you stopped by. Apologising to me is the same as apologising to her.”

    “No, it isn’t,” Thranduil said with a scowl, disapproving of Elrond’s choice of words. “Besides, I’m not sorry about what I said to you.”

    Elrond sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses wearily. “You’re such a child,” he said.

    “So what if I am? At least I know when I’ve made a mistake,” Thranduil retorted. It was a cheap shot, he knew that, but the temptation had been too much.

    “I said I was sorry!” Elrond snapped.

    “Are you really, though? You’ve got quite a nice set up here; I wouldn’t say you’re sorry at all,”

    “You resent that I made a life after you? You’re honestly so pathetic, Thranduil.”

    This made Thranduil’s temper flare and he rounded on Elrond, towering over him. “You know what? Yes! Yes, I resent you because, as always, you got the easy way out. You got the steady job and the gorgeous wife while I got dirty looks and minimum wage and the expectation that I have to apologise for my own feelings even when I’m the one who has been wronged.”

    “I know you’ve had it bad, Thranduil, but you can’t take out your anger on other people!” Elrond cried. “You can’t compare your problems to the problems of others and expect to get sympathy. It doesn’t work like that!”

    Thranduil hesitated, his heart rate quickening. He knew there was truth in Elrond’s words, but it only made him angrier. He was tired of apologising for his feelings; he was tired of being sorry for things that weren’t his fault.

    “You always said you’d be there for me!” he very nearly screamed. “But as soon as I fell pregnant and started defying what was normal to you, you left me without a word. You didn’t even say goodbye! And then years later I find you with a wife and twins on the way – _how do you think that’s supposed to make me feel?_ Do you seriously expect me to be happy for you?”

    Elrond didn’t say anything at this, but looked down at the floor, his hands trembling. Thranduil felt oddly calm despite his rage. He lowered his voice.

    “You know, I may not handle my emotions very well, but at least I can admit when I’ve hurt someone. At least I don’t expect everyone to love me despite what I’ve done. We’ve both made mistakes, Elrond, we both said things we didn’t mean, but you never apologised. As soon as things got bad, you ran away. You never thought your actions constituted remorse.”

    Elrond looked up, his expression furious. “You’ve run away from everything bad that’s happened to you!” he growled. “You can’t judge me for what I did.”

    “You want to know why I run away; you want to know why I dragged my son all over London? For safety. Because I made a choice, Elrond, and I live with that choice every day of my life, whether it’s by stabbing myself with a needle once a week, or by listening to the news about another transgender kid that got beat up. You have no right to tell me that I can’t judge you; you have no right to demand anything of me.”

    Thranduil turned on his heel and left. In any other situation, he might have knocked the flowers off the table, but he wanted Celebrían to have them, as he had put them together for her.

    He flung open the front door and fled down the steps, not daring to look back. Bard hadn’t returned yet, but Thranduil started to make his way home on foot, even though he was miles from town. He took the main road, venting out his frustration on his legs, taking determined steps.

    Bard eventually found him. Instead of a motorbike, a dark grey car pulled over beside Thranduil on the street and Bard rolled down the passenger window.

    “Hey, get in.”

    Thranduil did, sinking into the leather tiredly. He glanced behind him to see three pairs of round eyes staring at him from the back seats.

    “What happened?” Bard asked, turning back onto the road.

    “I don’t want to talk about it,” Thranduil muttered, sinking even further down in the seat and folding his arms.

    “Excuse me?”

    Thranduil swivelled around to the three children in the back who had not taken their eyes off him.

    “Are you an angel?” The girl on the left had spoken, who Thranduil assumed was Sigrid. She had light curly hair that tumbled about her face like her little sister’s.

    Bard laughed at this while Thranduil managed a smile.

    “No, I’m just a person,” he said.

    He then gave his attention to Bain, who was directly behind the passenger seat. He was a small, scrawny boy with dark hair like Bard’s. Thranduil noticed he was wearing a dress and he kept tugging the hem of it distractedly.

    “I’m free tomorrow,” Thranduil said to Bard.

    Bard’s eyes darted to him and then to Bain, his expression troubled. “You still want to help?” he said.

    “Of course,” Thranduil said firmly. “I’ll come over in the morning.”

    “Bring Legolas. We can make a… thing of it,” Bard said uncertainly.

    “Like a play-date?” Thranduil smirked.

    Bard shrugged and mumbled something incoherent, but Thranduil agreed.

    Bard dropped him off at his house. The sun was beginning to set, but the warmth of summer still lingered and Thranduil went upstairs to sit on the balcony, trying to find some peace. He couldn’t help but think about how bitterly unfair it all was. He was so stressed out with everything that was happening that he felt he didn’t even have time to go into mourning for his mother. He missed her.

    Legolas joined his father on the balcony, silently offering him a biscuit in a way that showed he cared. He didn’t understand, but he cared. He crawled into Thranduil’s lap and tugged on his hair gently, making small noises.

    “You yelled at Elrond again, didn’t you?” Haldir said, appearing from the kitchen and handing Thranduil a cup of tea.

    Thranduil sighed, leaning against the balcony railing and shielding his face with a fern. He took the mug without looking. “I just can’t let go of the fact that he left me. I know he came back, but it was the actual leaving that broke my heart. I thought I was going to die of it.”

    Haldir sat down in front of his friend, his face sympathetic.  

    “You’ve been hurt, Thran, more than any human being ought to be hurt. But you need to be easier on yourself. Sulking about what happened in the past won’t make the future any easier. I’m not saying you should forgive and forget, but don’t let it make you bitter. Don’t let it hold you back from making the right decisions.”

 

It was beautifully sunny the next day; so much so that Thranduil was glad to be out for once and enjoying it. He had barely left his house since Monday, too afraid to face the folk in town. But today he plucked up his courage and took Legolas to Bard’s house. The toddler was very excited to go to where the ‘art-man’ lived.

    “I want to buzz!” Legolas whined when they got to the door. Thranduil picked him up and let him press the doorbell.

    “If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll box your ears,” Thranduil murmured, setting him back down.

    “What does that mean?”

    Thranduil didn’t reply because he didn’t really know.

    Bard opened the door then, looking extremely chipper. He beamed at Legolas and Thranduil and stood aside to let them in. Thranduil was curious of Bard’s house. It was a new development and the walls were unnaturally white and the furniture very clean. There was a sitting room to the left of the hall which connected to the kitchen at the end, and there was a bathroom underneath the stairs through an archway. Thranduil looked beyond the sitting room to see a small garden, but it was mostly just grass and a brick path in the middle where laundry hung and dried in the sun. Bard’s house was disappointingly lacking in flora.

    Tilda and Sigrid were in the sitting room, spread out among toys and books and cushions. Legolas peered at them from behind Thranduil’s leg, his timidity holding him back from saying hello.

    “Do you want a drink?” Bard offered.

    “What do you have?” Thranduil asked, trying to prise Legolas from his leg.

    “Er, tea… coffee… a lot of juice boxes,” Bard answered, grinning crookedly.

    “I’ll have one of those,” said Thranduil, smiling despite himself. “Oh, Legolas! What are you so afraid of? They won’t bite you.”

    Thranduil shoved his son in the direction of the sitting room, which caused the two girls to look up from what they were doing. Thranduil nudged Legolas forward a little more and the boy burst into the room, standing stiff as a board in front of the girls.

    “I’m Legolas!” he shouted at them.

    “Oh, my God.”  Thranduil stared at their bewildered faces, wishing his son had a few more social skills. Is this how he had made friends in day care?

    Thankfully, Tilda stood up and stuck out her hand formally. “I’m Tilda!” she shouted back.

    “What the hell?” Bard returned, holding two juice boxes and gaping.

    “Sorry, Legolas started it,” Thranduil said, taking a juice box. “I don’t think he knows how to communicate with other kids that well.”

    Thranduil knew it was partially his fault for not paying much attention to Legolas’ needs concerning social interaction. But the boy had always been content to sit with his father at the park or talk to Haldir. Legolas had never had a particular affinity for playing with other children.

    “Where’s Bain?”

    “He’s upstairs,” Bard said, sticking the straw into his juice with a satisfying _pop_. “I think he’s cutting up the dress my wife forced him into yesterday.”

    “It was pretty ugly,” Thranduil commented, glancing up the stairs.

    “Yeah… I thought maybe Sigrid could have it but she turned her nose up at it too.”

    Just then, soft footsteps could be heard from the second floor. Bain appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at Thranduil with interest. Thranduil waved at him good-naturedly.

    “I haven’t told him why you’re here. I thought it would be better if you explained it,” Bard said with a puzzled expression. “Bain, come here. I want you to meet Thranduil.”

    Bain seemed very reluctant at first, but he padded down the stairs and walked over to Thranduil, who smiled at him, trying his best to appear friendly. In truth, he wasn’t sure how to approach the situation, but he was willing to give it a try.

    “Hi,” he said.

    “Hello,” Bain returned quietly.

    “Come on, we’ll sit down. Thranduil wants to talk to you,” Bard motioned, drawing them to the sofas. Legolas was already showing Tilda how to stack blocks so that they didn’t fall over, giving off his very best first impression.

    Bain halted at the door when Bard said this, his eyes growing wide with fear. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” he said sternly.

    Thranduil flickered his gaze to Bard, knowing the wrong thing had been said. Bain probably thought Thranduil was there to examine him or talk him out of wanting to transition.

    “Don’t worry, I’m a friend,” Thranduil said gently. “I’m here to help. I think.”

    Bain approached suspiciously, but eventually sat on the sofa next his father, folding his feet underneath him. Thranduil opened his mouth to introduce himself properly, but words failed him instantly. He didn’t know where he was supposed to begin.

    “You have to tell him,” he said to Bard.

    Bard made a face but nodded, turning to his son. “Bain, Thranduil is transgender.”

    “What?”

    Thranduil took a deep breath. “I was told I was female when I was born even though I’m a boy,” he worded carefully. “Like you.”

    “You’re like me?” Bain’s expression turned to wonder and he stared at Thranduil up and down. He didn’t say anything for a moment after that, but then launched into dozens of questions. “Does it hurt? How did you do it? Is it expensive? How long does it take? Will I look different afterwards? What did _you_ look like? Is that your real hair? What if it doesn’t work for me? Can you die?”

    Thranduil just sat there, feeling extremely overwhelmed, by the last question particularly.

    “What do you mean ‘can you die’?” he said.

    “Can you die from this feeling in your chest?” Bain said, staring at his hands.

    Thranduil inhaled sharply, his heart constricting. But he shook it off, trying to remain composed. He wasn’t going to tell this boy anything negative. He was going to be there for this kid to make sure he had a safe and happy transition, because it was the very least of what he deserved.

    Thranduil set about explaining to Bain what it meant to transition; the doctors and the tests and the medication and the general process. The child found it very complicated, but Thranduil could see he was doing his best to understand.

    “Things are going to be really easy for you, Bain,” Thranduil told him. “Your dad cares a lot about you and is going to make sure you can control the growing-up-part of your body, because that’s honestly the worst part.”

    “You mean I won’t grow boobs?” Bain gasped.

    “Nope!”

    “Did you grow boobs?”

    Thranduil laughed. “I did. It was terrible.”

    “How did you get rid of them?” Bain asked.

    “I had them… removed,” Thranduil said, his skin prickling.

    “How?”

    Exasperated, Thranduil wrung his hands. This kid had so many questions. Thranduil didn’t blame him, of course, but it was strange to be so interested in.

    “They cut them off, basically,” he said uneasily, trying to squash the lurching feeling in his stomach.

    “Can I see?”

   “Er –”

    “Bain, come on, it’s none of your business. You don’t need to know what it looks like,” Bard admonished, all but coming to Thranduil’s rescue.

   “But –”

    Bard gave him a very dangerous glare and Bain went quiet, thinking for a while. Thranduil could feel Bard’s eyes wandering to his chest and he felt self-conscious, wishing he had more than just a thin t-shirt to cover himself. He tried to be proud of his scars, but they were far more numerous than just the two from his top-surgery. And when people looked at him like Bard was now, it was all the more difficult.

    But Bain turned to Bard and distracted him, tugging on his shirt urgently. “Da, can I start now? Please?”

    Bard smiled warmly, but there was disappointment in his eyes. “We have to talk to your mother about it first,” he said. “You need her approval as much as mine.”

    “Why?” Bain said angrily, crossing his arms. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks!”

    “Legally speaking, you need her consent,” Thranduil said patiently, pulling himself from his thoughts. “Otherwise you have to wait until you’re eighteen.” That was more than a decade for Bain.

    “Don’t worry. She’ll come around,” Bard assured, though he chewed his lip anxiously.

    “Why can’t we just live with you?” Bain grumbled, burying his face into his father’s shirt and sighing dramatically.

    Bard went quiet, longing coveting his eyes. Thranduil knew he wanted exactly that; for his kids to be with him always. Thranduil wished there was a way to make it happen. He was sad to see Bard sad.

    “Da. Da.” Sigrid appeared at her father’s leg, scrambling over her older brother for attention. “Da, we’re bored.”

    “Well, what do you feel like doing?” Bard asked.

    “We want to go outside,” Sigrid said simply, pointing out to the sunshine.

    An idea suddenly struck Thranduil.

    “I know somewhere we can go,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to make a trip there before autumn comes around properly.”

    “Where?” said Bard.

    “It’s a plant sanctuary; where I get all my stock from. You can roam the gardens there on the weekends and pay to pick fruit as well,” Thranduil said excitedly, his heart quite nearly fluttering at the thought of it.

    “How far is it?” Bard looked hopeful.

    “About a thirty minute drive.”

    His face cracked into a smile. “Let’s go then!”

    They piled into his car. Sigrid, Bain and Tilda took the back seat while Thranduil and Legolas buckled themselves into the passenger side. Thranduil navigated from his mobile phone while Bard drove, strange to be seen in a car instead of a motorcycle.

    Legolas had never been in a car before. He plastered his face to the window and watched the houses roll by, eventually giving way to hills and thickets of trees.

    Valinor was Thranduil’s favourite place in the world, without competition. Going back there reminded him of how sad he would be if he left town. He’d miss the tumbling meadows of flowers and the acres of orchards and forests and gardens. He’d miss the feeling of being alone in nature, but not feeling lonely.

    The small group wandered the gardens, admiring the different world that unfolded around them; a world of green and yellow and blue. Sigrid and Bain rolled down hills and climbed trees while Legolas lost himself in the shrubs and Tilda just stared in wonder from her father’s shoulders. Thranduil ran his fingers through flowers and walked barefoot in the grass.

    “You really like it here, don’t you?” Bard commented after a long while of silence.

    “This is somewhere I feel truly happy,” Thranduil said quietly. “There is nothing more peaceful than to be in a place where no one will think badly of you. The flowers have no care for things you have done or what has been done to you. They exist simply to grow and be beautiful, and it’s good to learn from them once in a while.”

    Bard nodded at this. “It feels like life couldn’t possibly be hard here,” he said.

    “Is your life hard?” Thranduil did not say it mockingly.

    “Everyone’s life is hard. The world has to make you strong somehow.”

    “I wonder if there is any point to that.”

    Bard’s hand twitched against Tilda’s leg at this, his face solemn. “There is a point to everything; strength most of all. You are made strong for others. You are strong for the people you love, so that they don’t have to be.”

    Thranduil looked down the path they walked to where Legolas was trying to catch a butterfly, determination in every crease of his features. Thranduil hoped he was strong enough for his son.

    “What will you do about Bain?” he said, diverting the topic slightly.

    Bard sighed, scuffing his feet on the path for a moment. “I don’t know. My ex won’t sign a consent form, that’s for sure. It’ll be years before she’s convinced – if it all – that this is really what Bain wants.”

    “It’s not going to be easy no matter the circumstances, you know that, right?” Thranduil said.

    “I know. But she’s making it a lot more difficult by being stubborn. She just refuses to see him for who he really is and I can tell it really upsets him. She complains on the phone that he talks about me all the time and demands to see me and she blames it on my ‘carefree attitude,’ like it isn’t the stick up her ar – butt that’s the real problem.”

    “What made you divorce her?” Thranduil inquired.

    “It was nothing major. We just didn’t love each other anymore and agreed a divorce was for the best. But I sometimes wonder if we should have kept trying, though. Things might have been better for Bain. For all of them,” Bard mumbled.

    “You think so?”

    Bard adjusted Tilda on his shoulders for a moment. She was beginning to fall asleep on his head. “Sure, I mean, they wouldn’t have to choose between two parents. There would be no sides to take.”

    “Do they take sides?” Thranduil said with amusement.

    “Yeah. I think they take my side a lot. But, even if they lived with me, I wouldn’t know how to take care of two girls. And even Bain – raising him wouldn’t be quite like raising any other boy. Though I suppose that’s something else entirely.”

    “You could always find someone else?”

    Thranduil didn’t fail to notice the way Bard looked at Thranduil, but he chose to ignore it… as well as the twisting feeling in his stomach.

    “Maybe,” Bard said loosely.

    “Still. I think you should fight for custody,” Thranduil reasoned. “If they would be happier with you, then there really isn’t a reason not to.”

    Bard laughed bitterly at this. “Yeah, right. My ex would go spare. She may not pay our kids enough attention, but she wouldn’t leave them in my care for longer than a week even if she was on her deathbed. I don’t stand a chance. She’s a journalist, remember? She can really put up an argument.”

    Thranduil frowned, but said nothing more. He thought about what Bard had said, wondering if there was a way he could help. It seemed they were both stuck in awkward positions where they couldn’t help each other or themselves.

    But, in spite of that, Thranduil was glad that they had one another. It might be an unconventional, one-sided sort of friendship, but he knew Bard had his back, and he had Bard’s, and that would have to be enough for now.

    They stayed at Valinor well into the afternoon. The sun beat down against their necks as they rolled through the meadows, looking for four-leaf clovers and fairy gardens. Fingers became red from berries and t-shirts were filled with apples and oranges. Not having thought to bring baskets or boxes, they carried as much fruit as they could. Bard took his t-shirt off and used it as a sack, tying one of Sigrid’s hair-ties around the neck and arm-holes. Thranduil studied his tattoos with interest, finally able to see the one on his back. It was a long, snake-like dragon, coiled about his muscles with its wings half fanned out. It was so finely detailed that it seemed to move as Bard moved.

    Thranduil wanted to do the same thing with his t-shirt, but his lack of confidence held him back. He had never taken off his shirt in public before. He didn’t know if he was ready.

    “Ada, look at these!” Legolas crowed, sitting in a pile of fallen peaches.

    But it seemed he had no choice. Thranduil could not refuse the look on Legolas’ face. He took a deep breath and peeled his t-shirt off, bending down to scoop some peaches into it. Then he tied it up like a parcel and stood. Bard was staring at him.

    “What?” Thranduil said, feeling his ears grow hot.

    A light breeze grazed his chest and back – something he had never felt before. It was strange; like he had exposed a great secret to the world. And in a way, perhaps, he had. Thranduil’s body curved in places it didn’t really need to and his ribcage was wider than expected. And he had scars.

    “Nothing,” Bard said, shaking his head but smiling as well. He turned away and continued to help Bain put the last of the apples into his t-shirt.

    They headed back through the gardens to pay for the fruit and go home. But when they reached the little house at the entrance Thranduil stopped, his heart hammering. He didn’t think he could face strangers as he was. He couldn’t. There was no way.

    Bard seemed to understand. Without a word he took Thranduil’s t-shirt and went inside to pay, returning with a box to hold all the fruit.

    “Here,” he said, handing Thranduil his t-shirt back.

    Thranduil shook it out and put it back on, wishing he wasn’t so self-conscious, but for once not really blaming himself for it. He could tell Bard had not been expecting the other scars – who would be, really? He watched Thranduil for a moment, looking as though he wanted to say something. But he changed his mind and led the way back to the car. For all the things Thranduil was grateful for, he was grateful that Bard wasn’t nosy; he didn’t ask if he knew he wouldn’t be answered.

    They went back to Bard’s house. Tilda went straight for the couch and collapsed in exhaustion, falling asleep almost instantly. Sigrid, Bain and Legolas decided they wanted to watch a movie, so they put a DVD on. Thranduil wished they hadn’t, because he wanted to go home. He was tired.

    Bard went upstairs while Thranduil rationed out the fruit, trying to remember who had wanted what. When Bard came back, he was holding a t-shirt; Thranduil’s t-shirt.

    “I just realised I never gave it back,” he said softly. “I washed it.”

    “Oh, thank you,” Thranduil said, taking it.

    It smelled different; like the fabric softener Bard used. Thranduil got changed quickly, knowing there was no point to hide himself now, though he still desperately wanted to.

    Bard didn’t look this time, and he didn’t ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was supposed to end some 500 words earlier, but I realised it was a good opportunity for Thranduil to Do The Thing (I honestly had no idea when Bard was going to see him, so I was just like !! it's now or never dude). Anyway, a big theme that I wanted to feature in this fic was the contrast between Thranduil and Bard in terms of scars and tattoos. Both have reasons and stories behind them and I think it 's important to examine that, so I opted (after a suggestion from Sammy) to add some more history to Thranduil's body, which will be addressed eventually. 
> 
> Thank you all once more for your kind comments and kudos! I love you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a party, a fort, a couch, and an apology

Autumn had at last begun to settle. Rain came and dampened the orange leaves, sticking them to the roads and gutters and shop doors. There was still warmth in the day, remnants of summer not quite yet ready to leave, but the nights were cold and they were windy and the rain splattered against the windows in a violent frenzy.

   It was on a Saturday night such as this that Thranduil, Haldir and Legolas walked beneath umbrellas to Bard’s house, having been invited to his birthday party. The birthday itself had been that Wednesday just passed. Thranduil had sent along a card and flowers with himself to the tattoo parlour and he had stayed for tea. Later, he had struggled with the decision of what to get as a proper present for Bard, feeling for once that flowers were just not enough.

    Alas, imagination had failed him and Thranduil got Bard a pot plant. He carried it inside his jacket, shielding it from the rain. True, it was an Algaonema and could probably withstand the weather for a moment, but Thranduil still felt the need to protect it.

    They arrived at Bard’s house and stamped their feet on the welcome mat. Legolas pressed the doorbell again, his hair wet from running in and out of the umbrella.

    Bard answered the door very enthusiastically. He wrenched it open, revealing warmth and music and light and laughter from within. He beamed at the three of them, though they resembled stray dogs after their journey. Thranduil unzipped his jacket and thrust the gift forward without saying hello, his cheeks pink.

    “Ah! You got me a plant; why am I not surprised?” Bard said with a grin, ushering them inside and taking the plant from Thranduil.

    “I thought you could use more friends,” Thranduil joked, taking off his jacket and Legolas’, hanging them on the busy pegs with Haldir’s.

    “I have enough of those, actually. I can’t find enough chairs for them,” Bard grumbled good-naturedly, setting the plant on a table and pointing to the end of the hall.

    Thranduil, Haldir and Legolas were the last to arrive. An unearthly silence fell upon the kitchen as they entered. Everyone stared at Thranduil. He had barely been seen since rumour had spread about his… situation, and so to see him in public at last was quite astounding to the almost two dozen people in Bard’s kitchen.

    Thranduil’s mouth went dry, his ears burning as everyone continued to stare without qualm or shame. From the corner of his eye he watched Haldir’s face twist with rage and he stepped forward to undoubtedly give them all a good talking-to, but Thranduil stretched out an arm to stop him. It would only make it worse if they caused a scene.

    Bard appeared from behind them, his presence relaxing the room slightly. Everyone slowly went back to their drinks and conversations, pretending that nothing had happened. Thranduil’s stomach lurched uncomfortably, like he was going to be sick.

    But he knew Bard had understood the meaning behind the sudden silence. He rested a hand on Thranduil’s shoulder sympathetically for a moment, his fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt as though they wished to linger, but knew better than to do so.

    “I’ll get you a drink,” he murmured, shouldering passed.

    He didn’t ask Thranduil what he wanted, but returned with a glass of ice and clear liquid, which Thranduil was afraid to drink.

    “It’ll settle your nerves,” Bard insisted, uncapping a beer for himself. When Thranduil still hesitated to drink, he chuckled. “It’s just gin and tonic! I’m not trying to poison you.”

    “It’s not you I’m worried about,” Thranduil muttered, bringing it to his lips.

    Bard’s eyes swept the room. “Don’t worry about them. They only stare because they don’t understand.”

    “Well, I’m not going to explain myself to them,” Thranduil said tersely. “Whether they understand or not isn’t the point; it’s the fact that nothing should be different just because they know. People’s perception of me shouldn’t change just because I haven’t got a dick in my pants.”

    Bard choked on his drink and Thranduil hid a laugh behind his hand, silently congratulating himself for such boldness. It was nice to be honest with someone again. Haldir had gotten tired of his jokes after the first few months of knowing him.

    “Hey, Tauriel’s here!” Haldir suddenly said, waving to a redhead who just entered the room.

    Tauriel looked about at the sound of her name and then bounded over to Thranduil and Haldir with an enormous grin, pulling them both into an embrace.

    “You know each other?” Bard asked.

    “I deliver Thran’s flowers,” Tauriel said, bending down to pick up Legolas and blow a raspberry into his cheek.

    “How do _you_ know each other?” Haldir demanded.

    Tauriel answered this by lifting the side of her blouse to reveal a vibrant fox tattoo on her ribcage.

    Thranduil raised an eyebrow at it. He couldn’t deny that Bard was _very good_ at his job. In fact, Thranduil thought he wouldn’t mind Bard’s art on his own body, though it fluttered his stomach to admit it. He took a large gulp of his drink at this, but it didn’t settle anything.

    “Come on, Leggy, do you want to play with the other kids?” Tauriel motioned, hitching Legolas on her hip comfortably.

    “Other kids?” Thranduil repeated.

    “Everyone who has kids brought them,” Bard said with wide eyes. “I don’t know what to do with them all.”

    He showed Thranduil and Haldir to the sitting room where a remarkable group of children milled about, playing with toys and making such a racket that there was hardly any point to the music in the background as it couldn’t be heard. Thranduil spotted Gimli, who was already pulling Legolas’ hair and sharing his sweets with him, Aragorn, who was watching jealously, Bilbo’s kid, Frodo, and Thorin’s nephews, Kili and Fili, who were trying to make a fort out of the sofa cushions. Then, from the hall Sigrid appeared with blankets and Tilda at her heels while Bain peacefully played a handheld game as the fort was built around him.

   “I said it was going to be a ‘family-friendly’ party,” Bard said. “But I didn’t really consider what that was going to mean for the state of my lounge.”

    Tauriel went and sat with the children, trying to explain the finer points of fort-building, but they didn’t heed her advice and simply did as they pleased. Kili was trying to listen and was telling his brother what they should do, but Fili was the oldest kid there and he was smart and _knew what he was doing_ , so Kili sat between them feeling very conflicted, though unable to stray his eyes from Tauriel.

    “Thorin will start fussing if that fort gets any higher,” Bard whispered. Thranduil was somewhat amused by his lack of care for the chaos unfolding in his house. Though there was not much could be done to stop it.

    As if on cue, the day care manager burst in from the backyard where some people had congregated around a fire. He plucked a small, dark-haired boy from the midst of the ruckus, saving him from almost being pummelled by a cushion as Fili unmindfully tossed it aside for another.

    “Leave him be!” said a voice from outside.

    “What if they step on him?” Thorin called back.

    “He’s a boy, not a bug!”

    Thorin seemed hesitant but, when Frodo started to cry, he dumped him in Tauriel’s lap and fled outside again, looking flustered. Frodo hiccupped and then started babbling quietly to himself, not old enough yet to formulate a proper conversation with anyone.

    In contrast to Thorin, Tauriel seemed to be in her element. Thranduil wondered if she wasn’t about to lie on her back and let the children swarm all over her like kittens.

    “Come on, we’ll go outside,” Bard said, nodding towards the back door.

    Thranduil went, but Haldir stayed with Tauriel to play with the kids as he never quite felt up to dealing with adult company. Thranduil finished his drink and set the empty glass on a table where he noticed the flowers he had given Bard earlier that week. They were in an expensive-looking crystal vase and looked very happy, which made Thranduil blush.

    He and Bard joined the group around the fire, shielded from the rain by a wide balcony overhead. There was Thorin, Bilbo, Arathorn, Gilraen, and Celebrían, who waved ardently at Thranduil. Even after their quarrel she was still surprisingly warm towards him. And Thranduil had to admit she was growing on him. Her airiness was not to be mistaken for foolishness; she was quite witty.  

    “Elrond isn’t here?” he said, sitting next to her.

    “He works most weekends,” Celebrían said, cradling tonic water in her hands. She leaned to Thranduil slightly. “I’m quite pleased he isn’t here. He always makes me leave early.”

    “Why?” Thranduil inquired.

    Celebrían patted her round belly. “He thinks it’s bad for the boys,” she declared.

    “Boys?”

    Celebrían went pale, clapping her hands to her mouth. “No, I didn’t just say that. You didn’t hear anything!”

    “Hear what?” Thranduil said, feigning innocence.

    Celebrían tapped her nose smartly. “I promised Elrond we’d keep it a surprise, but I hate surprises, don’t you? I couldn’t stand to wait, so I’ve known for months now,” she said.

    Thranduil grinned. “I couldn’t wait either. Have you thought of any names yet?” he asked.

    “A few,” she said with a nod. “But I’m trying not to think about it for now. If I don’t think about names, Elrond won’t get suspicious. Though, honestly, I’m so glad we’re having boys because he has picked some _truly awful_ girls’ names and he refuses to shake them.”

    Thranduil laughed and turned his attention to Arathorn, who was animatedly telling a story about the time he encountered a pack of wolves in the forest and had to fight them off with his bare hands. No one really believed him until he lifted his shirt to reveal a very nasty scar above his stomach. Gilraen sat beside him with her head in her hands, as if dismayed that her husband was so animalistic.

    The night fell in and out of the flames at Thranduil’s feet, lost to cool gin and warm smiles. Bard wandered inside and outside the house, talking to everyone he could and cracking jokes. With Haldir and Tauriel he helped organise the children to watch a film so that their attention was on something that didn’t destroy his house. The fort was moved upstairs to a lounge room there and everyone was settled down with popcorn and soda.

    The moon rose higher and some people began to leave as they either had work the next day or were simply too tired to linger. Eventually only a handful of people remained and it was too cold to stay outside, so the fire was put out and everyone relocated to the sitting room for a last round of drinks.

    No one had really spoken to Thranduil that evening. He had engaged in some small talk here and there, saying hello to Feren and nodding to Dís. Everyone seemed desperate to ask him something, but no one really had the courage to. The only people who treated him normally were Bard and Celebrían. Arathorn and Gilraen were pleasant as well, but they had gone home with their son, so Thranduil was left to awkwardly tether himself to Elrond’s wife.

    To both of their dismay, Bard and the others decided to finish off all the drinks that were left in the fridge. Thranduil and Celebrían were soon surrounded by very loud, drunken laughter and conversation. Celebrían seemed to find it very funny, however, so Thranduil retreated upstairs to where Haldir was minding the children, though he had fallen asleep on the floor by the heater.

    Upstairs was more spacious than downstairs. An archway opened up to a room that wasn’t really designated to anything in particular. Doors led off to various bedrooms and there was a piano tucked away in a corner that was lined with bookshelves. There were two sofas which cushions were being used for the fort where the pale light of the television shone. Toys and books and other things were scattered about, making it look very lived-in.

    Thranduil sat down next to Haldir and woke him up.

    “What would you say if I said I fancied him?”

    “What?” Haldir rubbed his eyes groggily, propping himself up on his elbows.

    “Bard.”

    He snorted. “I’d say I told you so… Wait, you like him?”

    “No,” Thranduil said quickly. “It was just a thought.”

    Haldir smiled knowingly, but did not pursue the subject. Thranduil peered through a gap in the fort to see what was going on. The only children who were left were Bard’s and Legolas, who was asleep.

    “Will you take Legolas home? I think I’m going to stay and make sure Bard’s kids have someone sober to look after them,” Thranduil said.

    Haldir stretched, got to his feet and went to extricate a drooling Legolas from the fort. Thranduil went back downstairs with him to say goodbye.

    Everyone else was leaving at that moment as well. Half a dozen people spilled out onto the rain-dampened street, shouting and hooting into the night like teenagers. Celebrían was the last to leave before Haldir. She stopped at the door, looking at the sleeping child in his arms. She glanced at Thranduil, obviously recognising the similarity between them. Thranduil wondered if she would say something, but instead she offered Haldir a lift home.

    “You’re still here!” Bard exclaimed delightedly when everyone had departed.

    He threw himself at Thranduil, who caught him quickly around the middle. Sighing, Thranduil pulled Bard onto his back to carry him upstairs. Bard clung to Thranduil a bit like a sloth, talking to himself (or to Thranduil, it was hard to tell). He was very heavy.

    Thranduil disapproved slightly. He knew that Bard was only a part-time parent, but he really ought to be more considerate about his children. It wasn’t very responsible of him to get so drunk. Still, it wasn’t really his fault. A twenty-fifth birthday was nothing to stay sober about. And Bard seemed to have had a good time.

    Straining beneath his weight, Thranduil was relieved to dump Bard on the bed when they reached his room. In the darkness, Bard sat up uneasily, swaying slightly while Thranduil took off his shoes.

    “That was fun,” Bard slurred happily. “That was a good night. We should do it again tomorrow.”

    Thranduil didn’t say anything. He put Bard’s shoes aside and then stood up to help him out of his sweater.

    “Lift up your arms.”

    “I can’t,” Bard mumbled. He shook them as though they were made of jelly.

    Irritated, Thranduil took the sweater off arm-by-arm, tugging it off Bard’s head quite roughly. Then, with a delicate push, he fell Bard onto the mattress and put the duvet over him. He was too heavy to move into a proper sleeping position, so Thranduil tucked a pillow under his head, made sure he was warm, and went to leave.

    “Thranduil.” Bard still managed to say his name perfectly. “Thranduil, I love you. You’re, like, the nicest person ever.”

    Thranduil paused at the door, his heart turning over. He opened his mouth to reply, but had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. He heard Bard roll over in the bed and decided to ignore the statement. It didn’t mean anything.

    After switching on the light in the lounge room, Thranduil went over to the fort and found Bain playing his handheld game with little Tilda asleep on his knees, her glasses askew. He looked up at Thranduil’s approached, his eyes puffy from staying up so late.

    “Bain, I need your help. Do you think you could find me some blankets and a pillow so I can sleep on the sofa tonight?” Thranduil asked quietly.

    Bain gave Thranduil a puzzled look but nodded. Thranduil took Tilda in his arms and put her to bed while Bain went downstairs. Sigrid crawled out from the fort at all the sudden movement, blinking tiredly. She smiled at Thranduil.

    “You have very pretty hair,” she murmured.

    Thranduil beamed at her. “Thank you. Have you brushed your teeth?”

    Sigrid sighed very dramatically and went to a bathroom to the immediate left of the balcony. She clicked on the light and stood at the sink on a stool, brushing her teeth very meticulously.

    Bain returned with blankets and pillows. Together, he and Thranduil dismantled the fort and set up a place to sleep.

    “Why are you staying?” Bain asked.

    “Because your dad has had too much to drink and he won’t be able to wake up in the morning,” Thranduil said carefully, fluffing the pillows and tossing them onto the sofa. “Go and brush your teeth, okay?”

    Bain nodded and joined his little sister in the bathroom. Sigrid washed her face and moved aside for him, coming over to Thranduil just has he sat on the sofa, bouncing on it experimentally.

    “Will you braid my hair?” she inquired very sweetly, handing him a hairbrush.

    Thranduil took the brush and Sigrid sat down, staying very still while he braided her hair. It had been years since he had done it, having abandoned the need to braid his own. He had lost no skill in it, however, and twisted every strand perfectly. He took a hair-tie from around the brush handle and wrapped it around Sigrid’s golden curls, declaring it finished.

    “Wow, it’s so pretty! Thank you!” she exclaimed.

    “You’re very welcome. Now, off to bed; it’s very late,” Thranduil said.

    Sigrid nodded and pattered to the same bedroom Tilda was sleeping in, taking the larger bed opposite her sister’s. She whispered goodnight and shut the door quietly. Bain turned off the bathroom light and stood very still for a moment, as though he wished to speak. Thranduil watched him from the sofa, wondering what he wanted to say.

    “How did you get that scar here?” Bain said. His finger raked a line across his lower stomach.

    Thranduil inhaled sharply, his immediate response being to withdraw and remain silent. But Bain was just a child and there was no harm in telling him, really. Adults, in Thranduil’s experience, tended to be quite taken aback when he told them, so it was just another thing he kept in the dark. But it was late and he was tired. He could only imagine the string of questions that would follow his reply.

    “I’ll tell you another time,” he said gently. “Go to bed.”

    Bain nodded, looking sheepish. He said goodnight and retired to his room. Thranduil got up and started cleaning the house a bit. There were beer bottles and wrappers strewn about the kitchen and sitting room. He collected them all into a rubbish bag and left it on the dining table to deal with in the morning. Then, he put all the dishes into the sink, turned off all the lights in the house, and went back upstairs to his bed on the sofa.

    He texted Haldir.

-          _How’s Legolas?_

-          **Asleep. How’s everything over there?**

-          _Good, I think. Is it weird that I stayed?_

-          **A little, but it’s nice that you did.**

    Thranduil moved a thumb to reply to this, but another message came in quick succession.

-          **You’re different around him.**

-          _What do you mean?_

-          **I haven’t seen you act that way around someone before.**

-          _What are you trying to say?_

-          **You like him.**

-          _It’s more complicated than that!_

-          **Only because you’re making it complicated.**

    Annoyed, Thranduil turned off his phone. He removed his shoes, socks, jeans, and jumper and then buried himself in the blankets, closing his eyes.

   

    He slept well past dawn. Blinking in the ashy sunlight of mid-morning coming through the balcony window, Thranduil sat up on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. For a moment, he forgot where he was. The soft blue walls and white doors were unfamiliar to him, but he remembered the party and deciding to stay at Bard’s house. He looked towards Bards door, but it was still shut, as was Bain’s, and Sigrid and Tilda’s. Thranduil was the first one awake.

    Getting up, he pulled his jeans back on and wandered downstairs, observing the mess that was still left from last night. He wasn’t really up to cleaning Bard’s house, but he decided to throw away the trash at the very least. He found the bins in the garage where Bard’s car and motorbike were kept and then cleaned the dishes he had dumped in the sink the previous night.

    Then Thranduil put his phone on charge and made coffee, finding a jar of it in the cupboard above the kettle. After a while, he heard voices upstairs, and then the timid footfalls of children. Sigrid and Bain – who was holding a still half-asleep Tilda – appeared at the foot of the stairs in their pyjamas, peering into the kitchen.

    “Do you want breakfast?” Thranduil said.

    Sigrid burst inside, puffing out her chest bravely. “Can we have pancakes, please?” she cried.

    Thranduil laughed and agreed that pancakes were a very good idea. He set to work with Sigrid at his feet, helping in any way she could while Bain made tea.

    When plates were licked clean and mugs drained, Thranduil went upstairs to wake up Bard, his heart feeling big and awkward at the base of his throat.

    He opened the door to find a lump in the sheets stirring slightly. Thranduil went over to the curtains and pulled them open, letting the sunlight stream over Bard, who retreated further into his duvet.

    It took a great deal of convincing to get Bard out of bed. He was very off-colour and looked like he was going to be sick at any moment. When Thranduil mentioned pancakes, he very nearly retched.

    “Well, I’ll get you coffee at least,” Thranduil said.

    Bard eventually stood up and followed Thranduil. As they headed for the stairs, he saw the crumpled sheets and pillows on the sofa by the television.

    “Wait a minute,” he said. “Did you stay the night here?”

    “Yes,” said Thranduil uneasily, watching Bard in case he fell down the stairs.

    “Why?”

    “You have three kids, Bard. I wanted to make sure they were looked after.”

    Bard hesitated on the last few steps, his expression very slack and pale.

    “I guess I’m not really a good dad, huh?” he said quietly.

    Thranduil gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s your birthday; I think you can be forgiven for getting a bit too enthusiastic with the bottle. And besides, you’ve got me now." 

    Bard wanted to reply to this, but after a lengthy silence, only managed a strangled sort of noise while Thranduil felt his nerves building.

    Although Bard looked very unwell - his complexion becoming rather green after a while - Thranduil collected his things and went home. He left Bard at the kitchen table with a tall glass of water and a cup of coffee. His children had moved to the sitting room to watch cartoons. Thranduil said goodbye to them, getting a hug from Sigrid.

    Bard went to the door, clutching his mug of coffee like a safety net.

    “Thank you,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed.

    “It’s okay,” Thranduil said, taking his jacket from the peg by the door.

    Bard paused pensively, considering Thranduil for a moment, looking as though he finally wished to say what he hasn't been able to before.

     “Listen, I never really apologised for – er – trying to kiss you that night after the pub. It was really uncalled for and – and it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

    Thranduil processed this, his heart jumping erratically. Did he want it to mean something? He wasn’t really sure. Thranduil liked Bard, but at what point did that fondness exceed simple friendship?

    “Why are you bringing it up now?” he asked.

    Bard shrugged. “I just noticed that you’ve done a lot for me, and I haven’t really returned that kindness. I've mostly just caused trouble for you.”

    Thranduil bit his lip. True, he had been unusually kind to Bard. He wasn’t normally this nice to other people and his own actions intrigued him. Perhaps he did like Bard more than he was letting on; more than he even understood himself.

    “Anyway, I’m sorry, and I promise I won’t let my feelings get in the way again. I don’t want things to be awkward between us,” Bard concluded.

    Thranduil wasn’t really sure he wanted to accept the apology. Confused as he was by his own feelings towards Bard, this wasn’t helping at all. There was a distinct twisting in his stomach he couldn’t ignore and, seeing Bard now, though hung-over and looking frankly terrible, Thranduil felt the urge to finally return that kiss he had rejected.

    But he didn’t dare. It felt as though there was a barrier between them and Thranduil couldn’t bring himself to breach it, though he knew it was undoubtedly up to him. Bard was too nice to be anything but a gentleman about his feelings, and would surely wait until they were returned before making any rash decisions. This was all a bit new for Thranduil.

    However, regardless of his frustrating inner-monologue, Thranduil accepted the apology and said goodbye.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flirting, fighting, and friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW for Transphobia ******

Thranduil saw Bard again on Tuesday. He looked considerably better than he had on Sunday and was perfectly cheerful again, beaming as he entered the flower shop around midday. Thranduil was amused to see that he wasn’t wearing a jacket, obviously immune to the lowering temperatures, or simply too proud to cover his tattoos. Thranduil had reason to believe it was both.

    He offered Bard his warmest smile, though he still felt uneasy about the conversation they had had at the door after the party. Thranduil had spent the past two days thinking of very little else and it was sending him into a frenzy of confusion and indecision. Trying to find a solution to his feelings was proving impossible when he couldn’t even formulate a problem. The only conclusion he had really come to was that he couldn’t return Bard’s feelings not because he didn’t want to, but because he wouldn’t allow himself to.

    Instead of coming straight to the counter to chat, Bard wandered about the buckets of flowers, inspecting arrangements with an air of importance. Thranduil watched him hover around the tulips for a while before finally settling on a very large bouquet of roses that Thranduil had got in just yesterday.

    Bard put them on the counter and dug into his jeans for his wallet.

    “Who are these for?” Thranduil asked as casually as he was able, trying not to let what he realised was jealousy get in the way of his wrapping.

    Bard didn’t speak until he had handed over the money.

    “They’re for you.”

    Thranduil whirled around from the register in surprise, the money already safely locked inside. Was Bard playing some kind of trick on him? If he was, it wasn’t funny.

    “What?”

    “You’re always giving people flowers, but I never see anyone giving them to you, so I thought I would. And it’s a thank-you for helping out after the party,” Bard clarified simply. He picked up the bouquet and handed it to Thranduil, smiling his crooked smile.

    Thranduil blushed furiously but he didn’t take them, not knowing what to say. It had been years since anyone had bought him flowers. He always thought it a little redundant since he was constantly surrounded by them anyway. Even still, the sentiment made his heart skip a beat.

    “Are you flirting with me?” he murmured.

    Bard let out a hoarse laugh. “Yes, I suppose I am. But it’s not a token of affection, unless you want it to be.”

    “Right,” Thranduil said quietly, finally taking the bouquet, forgetting that he himself had put it together and admiring its beauty. “But I don’t understand why. There are lots of nice people in this town who deserve flowers more than I do.”

    “But I want you to have them,” Bard said.

    Thranduil looked at him, his stomach feeling a bit queasy, but not unpleasantly so. “What do you mean to achieve by flirting with me?” he asked.

    “I don’t know,” Bard admitted, leaning against the counter thoughtfully. “Maybe a drink? Maybe my feelings returned? I know I said I wouldn’t let them get in the way of our friendship, but like to think I still stand a chance with you, despite what everyone says.”

    “And what does everyone say?”

    “That you’re rude and unfriendly, mostly. I kind of got that impression when we first met, but my mind has changed since then,” Bard said.

    “What changed it?”

    “You did, of course. You’re nothing like what people told me. I stopped listening to them after a while.”

    Thranduil said nothing, burying his face into the bouquet to calm his nerves. Perhaps Bard was going to get what he wanted. His flirting technique wasn’t exactly hindering his chances. The more time Thranduil spent with him, the more he felt himself beginning to fall for those crooked smiles and easy gestures. Bard was everything Thranduil could ever want in a partner and he found it rather hard to believe that Bard actually fancied him. Thranduil wasn’t sure if he was worthy of such affection.

    It seemed too good to be true. This thought dampened Thranduil’s hope like no other thing could. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Bard – because he did – it was that he wasn’t sure he could give Bard what he wanted. He could return these feelings, certainly, but it wouldn’t be enough. _He_ wasn’t enough.

    “Bard, I’m flattered that you like me – really, I am – but I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Thranduil said carefully, setting the flowers down again. “I haven’t had good experiences with people, especially concerning relationships, and I don’t want to add you to the body count of people I’ve disappointed.”

    Bard frowned. “You say that like I’m some kind of victim of your – I’ll admit – rubbish social skills. But, you forget that I got divorced in my _early twenties_. Relationships aren’t my strong point either. But I like you, and that’s enough for me if it’s enough for you.”

    Thranduil took a deep breath, his heart pounding. “But what if – what if I can’t give you everything,” he said slowly, the queasiness in his stomach finally turning to nausea. “Being trans means I can’t – I won’t –”

    Bard started to laugh. “What? You think I’ll stop liking you because you won’t fuck me? Honestly, Thranduil, I’m insulted. What do you take me for?”

    Thranduil’s face went impossibly redder and he hid behind the flowers again, biting back what he was surprised to understand was a smile.

    “Ah, my break is over,” Bard suddenly said. “Well, I won’t ask you out now.”

    “Were you going to ask me out?” Thranduil said, rather stricken by the thought.

    “If you wanted me to. But I know one bouquet of flowers isn’t going to convince you, so I didn’t get my hopes up,” Bard said, his head tilted to the side as he looked at Thranduil with interest.

    Thranduil felt extremely harassed. This was becoming a bit too much and it was just creating more questions he didn’t have answers to.

    “I don’t want you to,” he said as firmly as he was able. “Not yet.”

    “You’re lucky you’re so pretty or I might reconsider,” Bard said, flashing yet another grin. “But does that mean I have a chance?”

    Thranduil stared at him, speechless. Bard definitely stood a chance, there was no question about that, but it was against Thranduil’s nature to confess this, or even accept it himself. If he didn’t feel quite so useless and unworthy, he might have said ‘yes,’ or ‘perhaps,’ but instead he just handed the flowers back to Bard.

    “I bought them for you,” Bard said with a small shake of his head. “You can re-sell them if you like, I don’t really mind. I’ll see you later!”

    With a chime of the shop door bell, Bard was gone, leaving Thranduil alone in the silence of his store. He gripped the flowers tightly for a moment, wondering if he ought to put them back in their container. It would be the sensible thing to do, surely, but something else made him fill a vase with water and put the flowers in it. When he closed the store at five, he took them upstairs and set them on his bedside table.

   

    The rest of the week rolled by without incident. Thranduil persisted in his determination not to leave the house unless he absolutely had to. This meant Haldir was becoming increasingly frustrated with all the errands he was running. He didn’t complain to any serious extent, however, for he cared about Thranduil enough not make him feel bad.

    But it was on Friday when Thranduil finally had to leave the safety of his flower shop. Haldir went into town with his university friends for the evening, so Thranduil was forced to go and pick up Legolas from day care at five o’clock. The sun was already beginning to drop to the horizon. The days were growing shorter.

    At the day care, Thranduil ran into Bilbo, who was collecting a paint-smattered Frodo from the group of children bustling about the room. He stared at Thranduil when he entered, but it was not the usual stare that he was becoming accustomed to; it was calculating and curious.

    Legolas was getting his backpack from the cubby-hole when Bilbo approached, looking a little nervous. He and Thranduil had never really spoken before, but Bilbo looked as though he had something important to tell Thranduil.

    “Hi,” he began, adjusting Frodo on his hip. Thranduil had never noticed how short Bilbo was; there was more than a foot of difference between their heights. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping a boundary, but I just wanted to ask if what people are saying about you is true?”

    Thranduil stiffened slightly. No one had actually had the gall to ask him anything about the rumours circulating him. But he decided he rather liked being asked; it made him feel less like an insect beneath the microscope of the town.

    “Yes,” he said, a little tensely.

    Bilbo gave an unsure smile, rubbing his nose awkwardly. “Okay, I just thought I’d find out for myself because, if you ever need someone to talk to…”

    He faltered, glancing at up Thranduil sheepishly. It took Thranduil a second to catch on to what Bilbo was trying to tell him. His mouth fell open.

    “You’re – ?”

    “I’m not out. This town is disgusting in the way it treats trans people,” Bilbo went on hurriedly, his voice low. “I don’t blame you for keeping it a secret, especially now that everyone is just proving themselves to be transphobic cu –” He took a deep breath to refrain from using a very vulgar profanity in a room full of children. “I think what you’re doing is very brave. If it were me, I wouldn’t stay here. I mean, Thorin and I already get glared at enough just for being together, so I can’t imagine what you must be going through… Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve got your back in this, and so does Thorin, though he might seem a little reluctant. Folk around here can be as awful as they are friendly, so be careful who you step around. With any luck, you might be able change their minds.”

    Thranduil scoffed. “People didn’t like me _before_ they knew I was trans, I doubt it will be me to make them see sense.”

    “Perhaps,” said Bilbo thoughtfully. “But you have Bard on your side; people like Bard.”

    Bilbo shrugged and he took Frodo to the day care kitchen where he started talking to Thorin. Bewildered, Thranduil picked up Legolas and headed home.

    He couldn’t believe it. He would never have picked Bilbo to be transgender. It made Thranduil wonder what other secrets people in this town were hiding; how many others would be stared at if their secrets were divulged?

    Thranduil was nearly home when he heard raised voices down the street outside Feren’s café. Dain, the pub owner, was arguing viciously with Elrond, who looked ready to turn the disagreement into a physical fight. Dís flanked her cousin, looking equally as menacing while Celebrían tried in vain to pull her husband into the car behind them.

    “It’s unnatural!” Dain spat vehemently. “You should take that child away, Elrond, you have the right!”

    This made even Celebrían round on Dain, her typically gentle face twisted with rage. “How dare you?!” she shrieked.

    “I have no right!” Elrond shouted, becoming impossibly angrier. “I’m not going to take Legolas away just because you think Thranduil is unfit to raise him. He’s a far better father than you could ever hope to be.”

    This made Dain practically throw a punch at Elrond, but Dís held him back with a firm grip. “Elrond, if you knew what was good for your son, you would take custody. He should have a proper a family; like one with you and Celebrían,” she said in a harsh, but reasonable tone.

    “He’s not my son. I could never do that to Thranduil,” Elrond growled.

    “You think our way of raising a child is better than his?” Celebrían said, her fists clenched. “Legolas is the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. He has been brought up better than either of your children have, that’s for sure.”

    Dís cracked her knuckles dangerously. She wouldn’t punch a pregnant woman, but by God, she looked tempted.

    “No, don’t worry, Celebrían,” Elrond said with a sarcastic edge in his voice. “Kili and Fili will turn out okay, because at least they have their uncle to put some sense in them.”

    “You leave my brother out of this!” Dís warned.

    “Why should I? He has more sense in his thick head than the two of you put together! At least he understands that you can’t choose the level of your acceptance. You can’t accept a gay person, but condemn a trans one. It doesn’t work like that!”

    “It’s entirely different!” Dain cut in. “Mutilating your body like that… it’s not right!”

    Thranduil had heard enough. Clutching Legolas to his chest, he ran around the corner of his shop to the stairs, not caring when he knocked a couple of pot plants to the ground on his way to the door. He fumbled for his keys, blinded by tears. Legolas was sniffling.

    Thranduil dropped the keys and, defeated, he fell onto the doormat and burst into hard, choking sobs. Legolas started crying as well, clutching his father’s leg desperately.

    He felt utterly lost. Thranduil couldn’t run, but he couldn’t stay, not when that’s what people were saying about him. He could deal with the staring and the pointing, but never had he been so brutally spoken against. He thought this town would be different to London, but it turned out that the more rural the area, the more unwelcome the people were.

    He heard footsteps coming around the corner and through his tears he saw Elrond appear at the stairs, his expression mortified. Celebrían was close behind, hobbling slightly from the weight of her belly.

    Elrond didn’t even take one look at Legolas, despite never having seen his son before. Celebrían picked him up and cradled him over her shoulder while he cried, not understanding what was going on.

    Elrond wrapped Thranduil into a hug, but this only made him cry harder. He wanted so desperately for something good to happen. Just once.

    “Don’t listen,” Elrond whispered, smoothing back Thranduil’s hair. “There is no one in this world more worthy than you to be a father. You are everything Legolas needs.”

    Elrond fetched the keys from the ground and opened the door. He pulled Thranduil to his feet and all four of them went inside, filing into the kitchen. Elrond proceeded to make some tea while Thranduil sat down at the table. Tears still streaming down his face, he asked for his son back.

    Celebrían handed Legolas over, rubbing her back and looking quite relieved. The boy was still crying, but he began to settle as Thranduil embraced him, letting his hair fall over their faces. He didn’t speak, but tried to stop crying. It was no good getting upset about something he couldn’t control. In the end, people could think whatever they liked about Thranduil; nothing was going to take Legolas away from him.

    When he had sufficiently calmed down, Thranduil was given tea with a thick slice of lemon (Elrond remembered) and Legolas was placed in Celebrían’s lap where he took a great deal of interest in her pregnant belly. Thranduil looked at them for a moment. Legolas’ little brothers were in there.

    “What happened?” he said as Elrond sat down with a mug of his own.

    He looked furious. “We were having coffee when I overheard Dain and Dís talking about you. I hated what they were saying, so I spoke up. I tried to explain, not shout, but they refused to listen. They were angry, you see, and disapproved about Legolas’ home life, thinking he should be sent to a foster home. I didn’t mean to, but I sort of let it slip that I was his other biological father and they tried to convince me to take him away from you. That’s when Feren kicked us out for causing trouble, and you must have heard the end of it.”

    Thranduil stared at his tea, prodding the lemon with a finger so that it sunk. He always knew Dain to be a pig-headed sort of man, but surely he had more sense than to speak so ill of something he knew nothing about? Thranduil wasn’t a perfect father by any means, but he did his best and he loved his son, and that’s what mattered, really.

    “I’m so sorry, Thranduil. I think I’ve just made this whole situation a lot worse,” Elrond said forlornly.

    “No,” Thranduil interjected hastily, looking up. “No, don’t blame yourself. I am actually quite grateful that you stood up for me.”

    Elrond’s expression was sympathetic. “Of course. I know we haven’t had the best conversations recently, but I won’t cast a blind eye to the horrible things people have been saying about you.”

    “That isn’t even the first argument he’s had this week,” Celebrían piped up.

    Elrond scowled. “You didn’t have to tell him that,” he said sourly.

    “No, it’s fine. There’s no point ignoring the fact that people don’t like me anymore,” Thranduil said.

    “I wouldn’t say that. True, most of the town is wary of you, but there are people who are prepared to stand behind you, even if it’s a little dubiously,” Elrond stated.

    “Like who?”

    “Well, Bard, obviously, Thorin, Bilbo, us two, Feren, Arathorn, Gilraen… I haven’t really spoken to anyone else,” Elrond said with a slight grimace, realising he had not listed nearly as many names as he had hoped to.

    “I’m sure there are other people who don’t agree with all this nasty stuff that’s being said,” Celebrían recovered quickly for her husband.

    “You say that like this is a war that needs to be won,” Thranduil said moodily.

    “It is!” she affirmed, tugging some of her hair out from Legolas’ hands. “And it’s a war they cannot win!”

    Thranduil really just wanted to go to sleep, not fight a war.

   

    Bard heard about what had happened the next day. He burst into the flower shop right before Thranduil was about to close, engulfing him in a tight hug.

    “Celebrían told me about what happened yesterday. I’m so sorry, Thranduil,” Bard said.

    Thranduil detached himself awkwardly from the hug, his heart beating very fast. “It’s fine. I’ve over it already,” he said offhandedly.

    Bard scrutinized him with a sharp eye for any sign of dishonesty while Thranduil went to bring in the last bucket of flowers from outside. Truthfully, he couldn’t shake what Dain had said about him, but he was doing his best not to think about it with any conviction. He could dwell on the words all he liked, but it wouldn’t change anything. He hadn't the energy nor the right words to defend himself against such ignorance.

    “Still,” Bard continued when Thranduil re-entered the shop. “I wish I had been there. I would have given him something to really get foul-mouthed about.” He smacked a fist into his hand pointedly.

    “You don’t need to go beating people up on my account,” said Thranduil resolutely. “It’s better just to ignore it.”

    Bard didn’t like the sound of this, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he redirected his attention to Thranduil’s flowers. He selected a bunch of chrysanthemums and put them on the counter with a twenty pound note.

    Thranduil stared at them, his heart still fluttering uncomfortably like it was trying to break free of his chest. “Are those –?”

    “For you, yes,” said Bard with a smirk.   

    Thranduil sighed and handed the money back. “I can’t accept my own flowers, Bard,” he mumbled.

    “But you’re the only florist in town! And besides, I’d feel properly embarrassed if I bought you B-grade flowers from someone else’s shop. I will only ever get you the best.”

    Thranduil went a very startling shade of crimson and bowed his head, feeling flattered and self-conscious. Bard prodded the money back into his hand and he very reluctantly slid it inside the register.

    Bard gave him a worried look.

    “Are you doing okay? This must be really hard on you,” he said sadly.

    Thranduil shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about it,” he said.

    Though he didn’t want Bard to know it, Thranduil was struggling with everything that was piling up. He was often close to having a complete meltdown, yesterday being only a small reminder of how easily he was cracking. But looking at Bard now and seeing the warmth in his eyes gave Thranduil a little bit of courage. At least one person wanted him to stay in this godforsaken town.

 

As the month of October carried on, attitudes in the village turned as bitter and hostile as the weather. Thranduil was almost never seen by the other shop owners, keeping his social interactions to customers (of which he still thankfully had) and friends. This made people very suspicious of him, however, and they now believed he had far more sinister things to hide from them.

    The only two places Thranduil was willing to show his face were the day care and the café. Feren had assured Thranduil that he was still very welcome in his establishment. He had proved this motion when he poured a fresh cup of coffee on the head of a man name Dwalin who had insulted Thranduil with some very choice slurs. Feren had asked him to leave and he had done so, but not before breaking a chair in his rage.

    Bard, on the other hand, continued to buy Thranduil flowers at least twice a week. Soon, his apartment was flourishing with tulips and roses and hyacinths and all manner of different flora. He couldn’t find enough vases to keep them all in. Haldir suggested he perhaps start re-selling them, but Thranduil immediately shut down the idea with a shrill yelp that he later refused to explain to his very smug-faced roommate.

    All-in-all, Thranduil’s life had become quite dismal. His only relief from the stress were Bard’s flowers and Legolas, who watched his father with much apprehension after regularly walking in on him crying.

    It was nearing Halloween when Thranduil bumped into Elrond at the café again. Things were much softer between them now as they both seemed to be fighting much prejudice from the townsfolk. They had forgotten all their quarrels. 

    “I got hate mail the other day,” Elrond said with a frown as they took a table in the corner. “It was made from magazine clippings and everything.”

    “What did it say?” Thranduil said, shocked.

    “That I had ‘strayed from the path of God and my unborn children would be struck down by the devil because of my infected seed.’”

    Elrond said this with a very straight face, but he laughed when Thranduil did. And it was easier that way; it was easier to laugh at the discrimination than let it affect him badly. Thranduil was beginning to learn to take it without shouldering it as a burden. 

    “How are you holding up? Celebrían says she doesn’t see much of you anymore,” Elrond added when Feren came over with their drinks.

    “I don’t leave the house much,” Thranduil confessed. “It’s hard to stay when I want to leave.”

    “Why are you staying? What’s different this time?” Elrond asked.

    Thranduil didn’t reply, but his thoughts went immediately to Bard and what he had said so many weeks ago. Thranduil didn’t think he could take much more, but he lived in hope that things would soon be better for him. Perhaps one day the town would get over it and he would be permitted to live in peace. But, for now, he was famous in village terms. Even after a month, he could still hear people whispering about him in the streets.

    He felt trapped, torn between staying and leaving everything behind. Thranduil wasn’t afraid to start over, but he was afraid to say goodbye. For once, he actually felt as though he had a great deal to lose if he ran away this time.

    Elrond sighed, bringing Thranduil out of his reverie. “I can’t believe people are being nasty to me as well,” he said. “Of course, it’s nothing compared to what you must be getting, but still…”

    Thranduil nodded emphatically. “It’s not your fight. People should leave you alone.”

    “People ought to leave you alone as well,” Elrond said sharply. “Being trans shouldn’t even be an issue anymore.”

    And yet, it was. Thranduil couldn’t understand it. What was so terrible about him? What did it matter that he was a little different?

    His thoughts went to Bain and the discrimination he would have to endure if he was found out. People believed him to be a boy now, but if he grew without taking puberty blockers he was going to have the face the same hardship Thranduil was facing now.

    It wasn’t right. Thranduil had to change things around here. Even if he ran, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he had left a transphobic town behind him. People had to learn; they had to be taught to understand. But he had no idea where he was supposed to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly couldn't resist making Bilbo trans, that's all I'm saying.  
> Thank you all again for the amazing comments on the last chapter!! They meant so so much to me <3  
> Also, feel free to message me on [ Tumblr ](http://trashelves.tumblr.com/ask)if you have any questions! I'm not likely to respond to comments because I don't want to fill them up with my own if you catch my drift :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the cold, drinks, and a change of heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super weird coming back to a modern au. It's been another whole month since I updated! Unacceptable. I have no idea where I am. No TW (alcohol maybe), and we've come to a good middle-point of the fic, I think (hope). Thank you all for your comments and kudos as usual! It means so so much to me!  
>   
> this chapter is in Bard's perspective! wow!

The school holidays brought with it a stormy chill in the air. All too soon, scarves were being buffeted around necks and gloves were lost in gutters and drains. The townspeople were becoming irritable and were rarely seen out-of-doors unless the sun made a rare appearance.

    Bard hated the cold. Snow and sweaters were one thing, but blistering ice and slippery roads were quite another, and those fast approaching. He was very begrudging to don his coat when he left the tattoo parlour on Saturday afternoon. A violent wind snagged at his scarf as he persisted down the street, his head bowed low. Thr occasional person he passed was much the same; unable to open their eyes properly against the wind. It was a great relief to reach the florist at the end of the street. Bard threw himself against the door and into the shop, quite breathless.

    Thranduil was at the counter talking to a man with thick golden hair tied in a loose ponytail. Their voices were low and important, but Thranduil offered Bard a quick smile when he entered. Not wishing to eavesdrop, Bard set about looking at the flowers, which had all been brought in from the oncoming storm.

    It never ceased to amaze Bard quite how beautiful Thranduil’s flowers were. Bard was no expert, of course, but he was always very taken by them. He wondered if it was because Thranduil truly was an artist, or because Bard was so enamoured by him and couldn’t really tell the difference between a good bouquet and a bad one.

    In any case, he was sorely tempted to buy some. He couldn’t afford to, however. And no doubt Thranduil had had enough of his attempts at flirting. Bard admitted he was pulling a rather dirty trick to win Thranduil’s affections, but it was borne of his own honest affection. Bard only kept buying Thranduil flowers because he loved the way Thranduil looked at him when he did.

    The man at the counter eventually left. He glanced at Bard momentarily, a knowing look in his eyes. He smirked, then opened the door and departed into the gale. Bard approached the counter where Thranduil was clipping the steps of some red flowers. Bard wished he knew more about plants. So far, he had only bought ones that looked nice, but he was stumped to name half of them.

    “Hi,” Thranduil said, not looking up from the stems. He was cutting off exactly one inch from each of them. Bard wondered if this was procedure, or merely habit.

    “Who was that?” he wondered.

    “Glorfindel. He’s my flower guy,” Thranduil said. “He came to arrange another contract.”

    Bard’s heart swelled at this. Another contract meant Thranduil was definitely sticking around. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the flower shop closed. There’d be no flowers for anyone to buy, and no Thranduil for Bard to talk to.

    “What are you doing later?” he asked.

    “Well, I have a rather enticing box of assorted tea I’ve been meaning to sample. I especially like the sound of the bamboo one,” Thranduil replied. He said it so casually Bard couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

    “Though that sounds delightful, I was wondering if you and Haldir wanted to come for a drink tonight. Elrond and Arathorn are coming too.”

    Thranduil’s face screwed up at this, as Bard knew it would.

    “At the pub? The pub that Dís and Dain own? The same Dís and Dain that called me – uh – what was it – unnatural?” 

    “I’ve been thinking,” Bard elaborated, deciding to ignore the crease between Thranduil’s eyebrows. “And it’s time you showed your face to the public. You won’t _believe_ all the stuff people have been saying about you. I know you have every right to not want to go out, but it’s starting to make things worse. It makes it look like you’ve got something to hide.”

    Bard waited while Thranduil pondered these words. When still he did not speak, he added; “There will be five of us – six, if you count Arathorn as two people, which I do – against two of them. We’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

    Thranduil shot him a withering look. “It seems I need bodyguards just to leave the house,” he muttered.

    “Don’t think of it like that. Come out with us; I hate that you’re stuck in here all the time. And besides, I get the kids for both weeks of the holidays this year so I won’t be able to go out again until next month,” Bard finished.

    “Who will look after Legolas if Haldir comes as well?” Thranduil asked, bundling up the flowers and putting them in a vase.

    “Gilraen said she’d be happy to,” said Bard.

    Thranduil raised an eyebrow rather critically. “Will I have to pay her for overtime?”

    Bard chuckled. “Nah. She’s having Celebrían over as well. They’ll be doing – I dunno – lady stuff.”

    “Don’t be so dismissive of lady stuff, Bard. A good mani-pedi never hurt anyone,” Thranduil admonished with a laugh.

    “So, you’ll come?”

    “If you insist,” Thranduil said.

    “I do,” said Bard. “I’ll come get you at seven.”

    Thranduil sighed heavily, but nodded. Bard was so happy he nearly kissed him, but caught himself just in time. He flashed his best smile and left the flower shop, suddenly unmindful of the bellowing wind.

 

    “Are you sure about this?”

    Bard glanced at Elrond as they walked down the street. He chewed his lip. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like they’ll refuse to serve us. Not at the risk of losing so many customers.”

    Elrond shook his head. “Bard, you must understand, I knew Thranduil before he transitioned; before everything became difficult. He never used to be like this.”

    “What do you mean?” Bard said, furrowing his brow.

    “He’s… harder than I remember him to be. And in a way that’s more than just armour. The world has made him bitter, Bard. I know you mean well by trying to get him out of the house, but you have to realise that this can go very badly. You’re pushing him into a situation he would otherwise deliberately avoid, because he knows what it does to him. If tonight doesn’t go well, he won’t trust you again.”

    Bard halted, his heart beating very fast and painfully. What if Elrond was right? What if this did go badly for Thranduil? Bard’s intentions were never anything but good, but he couldn’t predict or control the outcomes of them.

    Elrond sighed and gestured for Bard to keep going. “I do agree with your decision, though. I’ve heard what people have been saying about him. Thranduil needs to show his face again.”

    “You say he knows what it does to him..." Bard repeated slowly.

    “Thranduil is not the delicate flower you think he is,” Elrond said simply. Then, he grimaced. “A boy in town once called him some awful names for getting pregnant out of marriage. He was saying some really horrible stuff, actually. And, well, he ended up in hospital.”

    “What?” Bard gasped, horror-struck.

    “And Thranduil was seven months pregnant at the time. I’d never see him so angry. He has a lot more self-control now, I noticed, but that doesn’t mean he’s not likely to lash out. There’s a lot of suppressed rage in that man.”

    Bard shuddered, whether from the wind or from discomfort, he didn’t know. It was too late to change his plan now. Though less optimistic, he was still quite certain that this was a good idea. Folk in town seemed to like him, and if Thranduil was seen hanging out with him, perhaps the nasty comments would be alleviated slightly.

    They reached the flower shop and rounded the corner to the steps. Bard noticed all the plot plants that usually sat on them were gone. Had they been smashed, or had Thranduil taken them away? His heart heavy, Bard climbed and knocked on the door while Elrond waited on the street.

    It was Haldir who answered. He said Thranduil was still getting dressed, so he invited them in. Elrond hurried up the steps and closed the door behind him, gratefully shutting out the wind.

    Bard had only ever been in Thranduil’s flat once, when they had first met. It was much the same as it had been then, but darker since it was nearly night time and the storm clouds rolled overhead. It was warm and plants swung on the ceiling in the slight draft coming in from the windows. He liked the mismatching chairs and the rug on the floor by the television.

    Bard glanced down the hall to his right and spotted Thranduil emerging from the far bedroom. He was shirtless, his jeans hung very low on his hips, and he carried two articles of clothing in his hands. He didn’t look up from them, but called out. “Haldir? Should I wear the yellow one, or the navy one?”

    “Navy one,” Bard answered with a smirk.

    Thranduil froze near the end of the hall. Bard watched as the muscles on his arms seized up and he covered himself carefully with the clothes, turning a gentle shade of crimson.

    Bard wished he didn't have to, but he turned away out of politeness. He heard Thranduil shuffle slightly and then appear at his side, wearing the navy sweater and still red in the face.

    “Sorry,” he murmured. “Old habits.”

    “I always wondered how you got that scar,” Bard said. “The one on your ribcage.”

     Thranduil grinned momentarily at this. “I was seventeen. I was trying to build a tree house with my friends and some of the wood gave way under my foot. I fell about ten feet and landed on a saw that was faced slightly upward because of the timber it was lying on. I broke four ribs and needed over sixty stitches.”

    Bard’s stomach lurched unpleasantly, kind of wishing he hadn’t asked. However, it was the one scar he had been most curious about. The others were quite self-explanatory, though Bard was also intrigued by the one below Thranduil’s stomach (a little higher that was typical, Bard observed). He wondered what the reason behind it was. He had heard that caesareans were only performed in emergency situations. However, it didn’t distract him from the grooves near Thranduil’s hip bones that Bard felt rather privileged to have seen again.

    “Are you ready? Where’s Legolas?” he said.

    “I dropped him off at Gilraen’s an hour ago.” Thranduil grabbed his coat from the pegs by the door. He looked nervous. He seemed to have put a great deal of effort into his appearance. His hair was freshly cleaned and tied back in a loose knot and Bard didn’t fail to notice that those were new shoes.  

    “It’ll be fun,” Bard assured him, opening the door. “Arathorn has _Cards Against Humanity_.”

    The four of them started down the street to the pub. The wind was mercilessly cold and cracks of lightening lit up the sky far in the distance, the low rumble of thunder sometimes carrying over to the town. It was the chilliest day of autumn so far and it made Bard miss summer terribly. But he kept the atmosphere positive. He was painfully aware of how quiet Thranduil was.

    Everyone held their breath when they arrived at the pub, and this was quite an effort as the walk uphill had not been easy in the wind. Bard took the lead and opened the door, the other three filing in behind him. Thranduil brought up the rear, trembling slightly. Bard watched as Dís and Dain caught sight of him and glared, their shoulders stiff.

    Bard paid no attention to them. He found Arathorn sitting at a round table, hunched over and scribbling furiously on what appeared to be a napkin.

    “Look at this,” he said urgently as Bard and the others sat down. Bard stared at the napkin, seeing a criss-cross pattern of black lines in a child’s crayon borrowed from a container on the counter. “I’m gonna frame this. If I had a bit of colour here – I’m thinking red – and a circle here…”

    Unmindful of everyone else, Arathorn smacked the napkin back down on the table and proceeded to draw a perfect circle. Bard rolled his eyes.

    “Artists,” he muttered to Thranduil, who hid a laugh behind his hand.

    “I’ll get the first round. What are we drinking?” Elrond asked.

    Bard, Arathorn and Haldir all requested something, but Thranduil declined the offer.

    “Wine it is,” Elrond said triumphantly.

    Thranduil looked quite stricken by this. “Elrond, you know why I don’t drink… especially wine.”

    Elrond grinned and left for the bar. Amused, Bard turned to Thranduil and gave him an inquisitive look.

    “Why don’t you drink?” he said.

    Thranduil looked quite guilty at this. “I just don’t like how I act,” he said.

    On his left, Haldir was supressing a laugh, burying his face in his hands. Thranduil elbowed him sharply.

    Bard was very intrigued to witness Thranduil under the influence of alcohol. He, Bard, didn’t plan on letting himself have too much, considering it was starting to become a habit of his to get completely inebriated and be left in Thranduil’s care. Bard wasn’t going to let that happen again. It was far too embarrassing, and unfair to Thranduil.

    Elrond return with the drinks. He set red wine in front of Thranduil, who stared at it very sceptically.

    “It’s not poisoned,” Elrond assured him. “I watched her pour it.”

    Thranduil sighed and took a sip. A smear of red remained on his lips for a moment and Bard was overcome with the temptation to kiss it away. But he tightened the grip on his own drink and watched Arathorn shuffle an enormous stack of white cards, having now finished his artwork.

    Bard firmly believed that games such as _Cards Against Humanity_ brought out a great deal of honesty in people, and it was true enough for the five people sitting at the table that night. Elrond managed to win the _“how am I maintaining my relationship status?”_ card with _“the miracle of childbirth.”_ Arathorn had Bard choking on his drink when he presented the group with _“Step 1: Finger Painting. Step 2: Adderall. Step 3: Profit.”_ It was explained to Thranduil and Haldir that Arathorn had ADHD and his art had started out as a concentration method.

    Bard was stunned when Thranduil put together _“I got 99 problems but _____ ain’t one,”_ and _“estrogen,”_ and was laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his glass. Bard didn’t really get it until he remembered Thranduil was trans and he cracked a smile.

    The game ended almost an hour later when everyone agreed there were no decent cards left. They packed up and Bard went to get a third round of drinks.

    “Bard.”

    “Dís.”

    She looked at him very sternly for a moment, as if weighing her options. “Look, I know you mean well, but did you really have to bring him here?” she said, her gaze flickering to Thranduil.

    “You’re such a piece of work. What’s wrong with him?”

    “It’s bad for business,” Dís said.

    Bard snorted. “You want to know what’s bad for business? refusing to serve someone just because they don’t meet your standards of normality. Give Thranduil a break, okay? He’s a good person, which is more than I can say for you.”  

    Dís puffed up with anger, but asked Bard what drinks he wanted. He returned to the table feeling more than a little smug.

    “What did I miss?” he proposed, sliding drinks to everyone.

    “We’re trying to guess Haldir’s sexuality,” Elrond said. He was already very pink in the face from alcohol.

    “It’s no good,” Thranduil insisted, taking his wine. “He doesn’t even know himself.”

    "I just don't see what all the fuss about gender is," said Haldir promptly. 

    “Okay then, what about you, Thranduil?” said Elrond.

    Thranduil ran a finger around the rim of his glass awkwardly. “No good for me, either, I’m afraid.”

    “Surely you have a preference?” Elrond piped up.

    Bard didn’t miss the way Thranduil’s eyes trailed towards him momentarily. He felt himself blush.

    “Not really.”

    “Wait, I have a different question,” Arathorn cut in. He pointed to Elrond. “You. And Thranduil. I want to know about it.”

    Thranduil and Elrond exchanged what were unmistakably mischievous expressions.

    “Where do you even start?” said Elrond.

    “Probably with your brother,” offered Thranduil.

    “You have a brother?” Bard said in amazement.

    “A _twin_ brother,” Thranduil clarified. “And I think that’s where it started. Oh, I feel so bad for what I did to him now.”

    Elrond shook his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. He never took it to heart. He has a family now, you know.”

    “Oh, really? That’s nice. He always did love kids,” Thranduil said.

    Arathorn waved a hand at them impatiently.

    “Right!” Elrond said. “Well, we were – what? – eighteen. Thranduil was easily the prettiest girl in town.” Thranduil threw back a stray lock of his hair, feigning humility and batting his eyelashes. “And we met at my and my brother’s birthday party. Elros invited Thranduil and he quickly got very confused with who was who.”

    “I did not!” Thranduil objected. “I knew exactly which of you was which. I just decided I liked you better than your brother.”

    Elrond laughed. “We were on-and-off for a while, but officially started dating a few months after that, I think. We used to get up to the worst kind of trouble.”

    “We’d steal Elros’ motorbike, stay out all night, egg houses. Mind you, this was all when we were well past the age of this being appropriate. We had so much on our shoulders because we were both immediate heirs to our families’ fortune. But Elrond wanted to be a writer, and I wanted to be a botanist, and we didn’t take our futures very seriously.”

    “Do you remember how we used to argue all the time?” Elrond injected. “You were insufferable. You still are!”

    “Speak for yourself. I’m surprised I stuck it out so long. You threw the worst tantrums,” Thranduil quipped.

    “Which were hardly a match for your penchant for theatrics. Have you forgotten your nineteenth birthday? You came in riding a horse and sprayed champagne on everyone!”

    Bard gaped. “Did you really?” That didn’t sound like the Thranduil he knew at all.

    Thranduil face was alight with a grin. “I knew how to have fun.”

    “Yeah, and then you went had a kid and got all serious,” said Elrond, poking Thranduil condescendingly.

    Thranduil scowled. “Wait until you have kids, Elrond, then we’ll see how much fun you’ll still be having.”

    Arathorn nodded at this. “Kids ruin your life, mate.”

    “They do not!” said Bard.

    “But you only get yours every second weekend,” Arathorn said. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

    “And you don’t know what _that’s_ like. Kids might ruin your life, but being apart from them is worse,” said Bard hotly.

    “But we’re going to change that.”

    Thranduil spoke so quietly that only Bard heard it and he offered him a look of appreciation. Bard had liked the way he had said ‘we.’

    The conversation was lost to easier things after that. With a fourth and then a fifth round to encourage them, Arathorn and Bard got into another argument about art, Elrond and Haldir exchanged thoughts on a philosopher Bard had never heard of, and Thranduil challenged Arathorn to an arm-wrestle, which he lost, but was conceded to be stronger than he looked.

    As the night wore on, Bard did notice how Thranduil changed in his behaviour now that he had had a decent amount of wine. He was more careless in his movements and there was a patch of red in the space between his collarbones, which Bard caught glimpses at every time Thranduil leaned across the table to take someone else’s drink. He smiled more, too, and spoke rapidly, like he was eager to get out every word on his mind. Bard decided he liked Thranduil this way; he was open, and looked happier.

    He also leaned into Bard whenever the opportunity arose, which Bard tried not to dwell on. He couldn’t stop the way his heart folded over whenever it happened, however. Thranduil’s hair had come loose from its knot and Bard could smell the sweet shampoo each time he leaned in. He pushed it out of his eyes often, making Bard quite breathless at the sight of them, for they sparkled from alcohol and merriment.

    It turned out to be a good night and the five of them left some time before eleven. Thranduil waved cheerily to Dís and Dain, who scowled and did not wave back. He laughed and departed with everyone else.

    “Come on, we have to go and get your kid,” said Bard, taking Thranduil by the elbow and tugging him in the direction of Gilraen’s house.

    Everyone followed them, as Arathorn lived there, Elrond’s wife was driving him home, and Haldir didn’t want to go back his flat on his own. They were all of them quite drunk – with the exception of Arathorn, who needed more than a few beers to get him anywhere near slurring his words – and Gilraen and Celebrían were not impressed when they arrived on the doorsteps of a large, one-storey building.

    “You have a very lovely garden,” said Thranduil to Gilraen.

    She laughed. “Legolas, your dad is here.”

    Legolas came tottering out into the hall with Aragorn close at his heels. He bee-lined for Thranduil, who bent down a little awkwardly to pick him up.

    “Thanks for babysitting,” he said.

    “It was my pleasure. Legolas is a very good kid,” said Gilraen with a warm smile.

    Arathorn and Elrond stayed behind so Haldir, Thranduil and Bard all made their way to the flower shop. Bard would have gone straight home, but he didn’t want to leave both Legolas and Haldir in Thranduil’s care as Haldir had drunk more than anyone and was humming very noisily to the night.

    Bard himself felt pleasantly buzzed. He was glad nothing had gone wrong. He would almost say it was perfect, but there was still the wish there would be a kiss at the end of it. He didn’t want to be selfish about all this – about him and Thranduil and the awkward-but-not awkward relationship they had – but there was no stopping him from wanting it to go his way. Bard had no shame in admitting his feelings, and he was still prepared to wait for Thranduil's, even if they never came.

    They eventually reached Thranduil’s house, stiff from the cold. The storm was beginning to come over the town and small droplets of rain spattered the pavement. Bard made to bid goodnight, but Thranduil jerked his head towards the door.

    “Do you want to come in for tea?” he asked.

    Surprised at his, Bard accepted, going up the stairs and into the dark house.

    Haldir went straight for his bedroom. Bard heard a small _thud_ as he undoubtedly collapsed into the bed. Thranduil switched on some lights and then put Legolas to bed as well.

    Bard explored the house a little bit. He filled an orange kettle with water and set it to boil to save some time and he found an assortment of mugs in a top cupboard to the left. He thought Thranduil’s house was very interesting; it was so full of colour and mismatching things. There were plants _everywhere_ and toys all on the floor. An old laptop was on the dining table and at the top of the stairs leading to the shop were shelves of books. It looked cosy. It looked like home.

    Thranduil emerged from the hall and, upon seeing that tea was nearly ready, smiled at Bard. He came over, cut a slice of lemon, and dropped it into one of the mugs for himself. Then he slumped into the sofa, pulling a blanket towards him and wrapping up in it.

    “That was a good night,” he said when Bard came over with the tea, setting it on the table.

    Bard sat down. The sofa was immeasurably comfortable. He glanced at Thranduil, who had his eyes closed as though ready to fall sleep. Bard felt much the same; tired, and happy.

    “You don’t regret going out?” he asked.

    “No,” said Thranduil. “You were right; it’s not good staying at home all the time.”

    “I feel like I’ve barely seen you,” Bard added.

    “How long has it been since we met?” Thranduil said.

    Bard counted on his fingers. “Just over a month.”

    Thranduil didn’t say anything to this for a moment. He sighed. “It feels like it’s been longer than that. So much has happened.”

    Bard chewed his lip. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for everything that had occurred in the past month. It seemed ever since he had come into Thranduil’s life, everything had gone rather pear-shaped for him. Bard told himself over and over that he wasn’t to blame, but he had unintentionally brought a great deal of unwanted attention to Thranduil. He felt guilty for it, too. He hadn’t meant to make things harder on him. He just hadn’t been able to keep his distance.

    “Do you still feel like leaving?” he said anxiously.

    Thranduil opened his eyes and turned to look at Bard, his brow furrowed slightly as if he was thinking. “No,” he said. “I think it’s better to stay.”

    “But if you’re refusing to leave the house –”

    “Do you want me to leave?”

    “No!"

    “I’m tired of running away. Staying is hard, yes, but running away is harder. I don’t want to start again, not when everything I need is here.”

    Thranduil’s eyes linked with Bard's for a fraction of a second.

    “I’m glad you’re staying,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

    Thranduil smiled genuinely. “I can’t very well leave you to the mercy of the town. And something has to be done about your lack of custody.”

    “You’re really determined on that front, aren’t you?” Bard said with a smirk.

    “I am,” said Thranduil fiercely. “I think your children would be much happier here, especially if things go my way.”

    “Your way?”

    “We must initiate a plan of attack – rid the town of its ancient proclivities – and then integrate your children with unrelenting kindness and acceptance.” Thranduil said this extremely dramatically and punched the air as if victorious already.

    Bard laughed. “It would be nice if they could live here once everyone removed their heads from their arses,” he said. “It’s all I could ever ask for.”

    “All?”

    Bard raised an eyebrow at this, curious. “Not all. But I did say I would keep my distance about that."

    Thranduil was silent for a moment, and then he said, “You shouldn’t.”

    “Shouldn’t what?”

    He looked at Bard almost pitifully. “You shouldn’t keep your distance.”

    Bard’s heart did a backflip. “But I thought –?”

    “I’ve changed my mind,” said Thranduil quickly. He let out a breathless laugh. “I’ve been a bit of a dick, actually, because I like you – I like you a lot – but I couldn’t bring myself to reciprocate your admittedly very flattering and charming attempts to flirt with me. I thought that, if I waited long enough, we could just see the end of this fiasco as unlikely friends, but I’m being a bit stupid. I just…” Thranduil took a deep breath. “I just didn’t feel good enough for you, but I realise now that it’s not exactly up to me whether or not that’s true and, well, if you like me, then what’s the point of constantly rejecting you?”

    Bard felt like he had been slapped in the face. He was silent for a very, very long time.

    “Please say something,” Thranduil whispered, his cheeks handsomely flushed.

    Bard didn’t. He leaned over and kissed Thranduil instead, finally granted the perfect end to a perfect night, because Thranduil kissed him back this time, and it was like summer had found its way back to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I keep waffling around the plot with all these emotionally-driven chapters, but I swear on my life stuff will start happening now. I came to the conclusion that I actually wanted these two losers to get together before the fic ended, so I thought I'd get that out of the way before I set to with everything else. I know this is labelled as as slow-burn fic, but I can't very well have them date at the end of it, because tbh that's boring and unsatisfying. Anyway, hope you like this chapter! The next one will probably be in Bard's POV again, because I want a more third-person perspective of Thranduil. Love you all x


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some jokes, Audrey, and trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit longer than the others and it's a huge mess, if I'm honest, but I wanted to get a firmer grip on Bard while I still have his POV at my disposal. Needless to say I failed, but oh well. Hope you enjoy the chapter anyway!

Bard awoke to the cloudy aftermath of last night’s storm, swirling and grey. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was. He stretched, trying to think.

    _Smack_.

    Bard remembered where he was. Because there was someone in the bed next to him, and he had just hit them in the face.

    He withdrew his arm very slowly, turning guiltily to look at Thranduil who was clutching his face and groaning through his fingers.

    Bard could have groaned himself. All that flirting and befriending and flower-purchasing just so he could ruin their first morning together. He pulled the covers over his eyes, ashamed of himself.

    Beside him, Thranduil shifted. Their legs brushed under the duvet. Bard then became very aware of exactly where he was; in Thranduil’s house, in Thranduil’s bedroom, in Thranduil’s bed. And it was very warm; the type of warm a bed could only achieve with two bodies in it.

    Thranduil joined Bard under the duvet. He rubbed his cheek and shot Bard a scandalised expression.

    “I’m sorry,” Bard mumbled.

    Thranduil chuckled. “Well, at least I can’t say you’re boring in bed,” he quipped.

    Grinning, Bard extended a hand and wound his fingers through Thranduil’s hair. He felt immensely privileged to finally touch it, for it was as soft and silky as he had always imagined.

    Thranduil smiled. His cheeks were dusted with pink from the warmth of the bed and his eyes sparkled with the remnants of sleep. He was beautiful.

    “Do you have any romance-driven dates to take me on today?” he asked casually.

    Bard caught onto the joke quickly. “Sorry, I can’t go to a last-minute brunch; I have some vague, pre-organised Sunday plans.”

    Thranduil laughed again. Bard’s heart leapt frantically. He couldn’t believe he was here. He was convinced he was going to wake up and find out this was all a dream.

    “Do you really?” Thranduil said after a moment.

    “What?”

    “Have plans?”

    Bard mentally sifted through his to-do list. “No,” he said.

    Thranduil’s fingers crept to the neck of Bard’s t-shirt, looping around the fabric and making his skin tingle pleasantly. His hands were a wonder of gentleness and eagerness. Everything Thranduil did not say with words, he said with his hands and with the brushes of his fingers against Bard’s jaw, which he framed in kisses before settling on his mouth.

    “Good.”

    They woke up slowly, emerging from beneath the duvet and talking in hushed voices. They were still hesitant and careful around each other. Bard didn’t dare do anything that might make Thranduil uncomfortable, but he let himself be bold. Thranduil seemed more confident – as though the openness of last night’s drinking had not faltered – but still a little timid. He kept to his side of the bed, but did not object when Bard reached over to touch his hair or arm or face.

    Bard didn’t take it personally, nor did he mind. He preferred it, actually. There was something so cathartic about sleeping next to someone, not with them. He felt better rested than since before he had moved.

    They got up; Thranduil in his striped pajamas that were three inches too short for him and Bard in a borrowed t-shirt and sweats. It was still very early. The house was quiet and still. Thranduil turned the central heating on and went to check on Legolas.

    “He’s still sleeping,” he said, coming into the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast?”

    Bard was turning the kettle on for coffee, yawning. He nodded and Thranduil started rummaging through the fridge for food. He closed the door, looking grim.

    “I only have toast,” he said apologetically.

    “No bacon?” Bard didn’t find himself surprised when Thranduil wrinkled his nose at this. He hadn’t figured him to be a fan of eating meat. “Toast is fine.”

    The noise in the kitchen eventually roused Haldir. He shuffled into the kitchen with his eyes still half-closed and his blonde hair stuck out in all directions. He mumbled a general greeting and dropped himself into a chair at the table, yawning impressively. He didn’t seem aware that Bard was even there. Either he was too hung-over to notice, or too tired to care. Or perhaps he just wasn’t at all amazed that Bard and Thranduil had finally gotten together. Bard had a feeling it was a groggy combination of the three.

    Thranduil set a mug of coffee in front of his friend with an amused expression and then went to wake up Legolas properly. Bard put more bread into the toaster. It was comically domestic.

    “Hey, Bard,” Haldir whispered from the table, starting to look more awake now. Apparently he did know Bard was there. “How was it?”

    Bard blinked at him. “How was what?”

    Haldir’s jaw went slack. “Don’t tell me you didn’t?”

    “Didn’t _what_?” Bard demanded.

    Haldir looked mortified – almost to the point of complete dismay – as though Bard had just paid him a great insult.

    “You mean to tell me that you shared a bed for eight hours and _nothing happened_?”

    Bard shrugged. “Is something supposed to happen?”

    Haldir opened his mouth to argue, but evidently found nothing to support his opinion, and so closed it again. He went back to his coffee, shaking his head and muttering quietly to himself.

    “Please don’t harass my guest,” Thranduil said, returning from the hall with Legolas in his arms.

    Haldir sniffed and shook his head again, rolling his eyes.

    Thranduil ignored him and put Legolas on the ground. The toddler stretched very exuberantly, his hands high in the air, and then he stared up at Bard just as the toast popped.

    Bard expected Legolas to say something, but he didn’t. He stared for about a minute longer, and then went to watch television. Thranduil got some jam from the cupboard and the three of them sat down to breakfast, the hum of cartoons in the background, which Haldir watched between bites of toast.

    It was comfortable, Bard decided. It was still new and quite possibly as awkward as ever, but at least there was no longer the need to refrain from smiling for no reason, or from touching just because they wanted to touch. Bard and Thranduil were ready to be familiar with one another, and that was a blessing in and of itself.

 

    The news that Bard and Thranduil were dating came as no surprise to folk in town. Bard had expected them to be gossiping and asking questions as was their custom, but as the school holidays rolled in and friends and family came to visit, nobody said a word. In fact, Bard was beginning to suspect everyone thought he and Thranduil had been a couple for a while now.

    “You can’t blame them for thinking it,” said Thranduil reasonably. They were at the hardware store, buying straw for Thranduil’s backyard. “We have been spending an awful lot of time together. Not to mention I’m a famous recluse, yet you single-handedly helped me walk all the way to the other side of the shops.”

    He threw a bag of straw into the trolley Bard was leaning on and pondering these words. Around them, Legolas, Bain, Tilda and Sigrid were running pell-mell, taking paint swatches and climbing shelves.

    “It’s all a bit anti-climactic, don’t you think?” Bard commented.

    “A relationship isn’t there for display, Bard,” Thranduil said.

    “I know! But it’s still a bit unsatisfying, if I’m honest. I was actually hoping it might help with all the bad stigma you’ve been getting.”

    Thranduil shrugged, heaving two more bags of straw into the trolley. “It doesn’t matter. If people want to waste their time gossiping about me, then they are at perfect liberty to. It’s not going to make me leave or change that fact that I’m trans.”

    “That’s true,” said Bard thoughtfully, though he still wanted to fix this kind of attitude. “Wait, _why_ do you need so much straw?”

    Thranduil gave him a disparaging look. “It’s rained for three days, Bard. My garden is suffering. It isn’t built for this kind of weather. Water doesn’t regulate properly because of its size, so it just floods. With everything that’s been going on, I completely forgot to plan for it. And it will be winter soon. My roses need protection from the snow.”

    Bard shook his head. So much work just for some leaves.

    “Come on, guys, we’re going!” he shouted.

    From four different directions, the children hurried into their vicinity. Tilda’s hands were full of paint swatches and Bain was carrying Legolas on his back.

    “Okay, we don’t need those,” Bard said to Sigrid as she tried to put various garden tools into the trolley.

    “We ought to have a garden, da,” she pouted as he took them away.

    “You can tend my garden if you like,” Thranduil offered with a grin.

    “Oooh, can we?” Sigrid said, looking imploringly at her father.

    Bard nodded. "Thranduil is looking after you this afternoon, so you can give him a hand." He picked up Tilda and sat her on the straw in the trolley with Legolas as they all made their way to the checkout.

    It was a weekday, so they hurried back to their respective shops, Thranduil taking all the children to work on his garden while the rain had stopped for a while. He was getting into the habit of babysitting so that Bard could work without disturbance. He hadn’t thought over the implications of having his children with him for the holidays while Celebrían couldn’t look after the parlour on her own. She was less than a month from her due date and so swollen that Bard was having trouble resisting any watermelon-themed jokes that came to mind, which he knew from experience were not appreciated by pregnant women.

    When Bard returned, Celebrían was hunched over a customer’s knee, her tongue between her teeth and a tattoo gun held over the boy’s thigh. The gun hummed happily against his skin, and he flinched every now and then.

    “Do you want to take a break, honey?” she asked when the boy flinched so badly it made his leg twitch. She threw up the gun just in time so as not to make a mistake.

    “Er –” said the boy, obviously not keen to admit that he couldn't take much more. He looked extremely intimidated by her.

    Celebrían smiled almost condescendingly at him. “I’ll get us some lunch.”

    Bard followed her to the front counter. “I hope he’s one of your last customers,” he said.

    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Celebrían said, opening the register to take out some money. “What do I need to take time off work for? As far as I’m concerned, sitting on my arse and inking people is easy on the maternity side of things.”

    “I understand that, but you must be concerned about going into labour halfway through a piece,” said Bard anxiously. “I can’t match your style, so heaven knows what I’ll do if I have to finish it for you.”

    Celebrían laughed. “If it’s alright with you, I’m taking leave after the holidays. But I will say it is at Elrond’s insistence. He is very stern about me still working, but I don’t think I could bear lounging around the house all day with nothing but a kicking fetus for company.”

    Bard sighed, but let the subject drop. Celebrían closed the register and asked the boy what he wanted from the bakery.

    “I’ll go,” said Bard, extending his hand to take the money.

    “I’m perfectly capable of _walking_ , Bard. Goodness, I don’t envy your ex-wife if this is how you behaved when she was pregnant.”

    “I didn’t worry about her,” Bard admitted. “She actually stayed at home when I asked her to.”

    “Well, you won’t find me quite so submissive to the idle frets of men,” said Celebrían haughtily. “Do you want anything?”

    “Yeah, get me a pie. Two pies. With meat.”

    Celebrían left and Bard’s next appointment arrived. He put on his glasses and set to work on a massive snake piece on a girl’s ribcage. She kept flirting with him, being in mid-twenties herself, but Bard politely shot her down as subtly as he could, daring even to mention that he had a boyfriend, though this made his stomach flip excitedly. He concentrated on the thin, dotted lines and latched onto any normal conversation as soon as it made itself available.

    It was well past closing time when he was finished. Celebrían had gone home already and Bard was exhausted. He felt bad for leaving his kids for such a long time, but he knew they were in good hands. He accepted money for the tattoo and closed the parlour. It had begun to rain again, so he donned his coat and pelted out into the street, heading for the florist.

    Thranduil had already closed up. Bard hurried up the stone steps on the side of the building and pounded on the door, shielding his eyes from the rain.

    Haldir opened it, ushering Bard in and taking his coat. Together they went into the kitchen where Thranduil was making dinner, accompanied by Bain who was sitting on the counter and talking very quickly about what sounded like school. Legolas, Tilda and Sigrid were all on the floor of the sitting room, playing with blocks.

    “Hi, honey, I’m home,” Bard said.

    He meant it as a joke, but in his shock it came across rather toneless. He was certain he had walked into a dream. Something so simple could possibly be bringing him as much joy as it was. How was it that he had come back to this – to children by the fire and someone cooking dinner at his arrival – and found it good? He never imagined he was worth such a blessing.

    Thranduil’s laughter brought Bard out of his thoughts. “Hi, Home, I’m Honey.”

    Bard made a face. “Did you just make a dad joke?”

    “Someone has to,” Thranduil said as he handed Bain a piece of carrot to eat.

    “I didn’t sign up for this. I’m going to have to remove my children from your abysmal parenting skills.”

    “Without their dinner? Now whose parenting skills are bad?”

    Bard smirked and came over to the kitchen, shaking some water out of his hair. “What are we having?”

    “Ratatouille,” said Thranduil.

    They all crowded around the small table to eat. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone so Legolas had to sit on Thranduil’s lap and Tilda on Bard’s. It was uncomfortable, but they managed, and there was nothing else to complain about. Bard asked about Thranduil’s garden and all four children launched into excited chatter about the day they had had.

    When plates were licked clean, Bard helped tidy up and then decided to take his chance to head home while it was no longer raining.

    Thranduil looked despondent as they went to the door and stood at its threshold. “It’s a shame you cannot stay,” he said.

    “And have you sick of me already? I can't risk it. Besides, I’ll probably see you tomorrow,” Bard assured, grinning crookedly.

    Thranduil smiled. “Do you need me to babysit again?”

    Bard’s shook his head immediately. “No. I won’t have my kids impose on you again. Gilraen said she could look after them tomorrow. I guess it’s good to have friends in high places.”

    “Legolas will like that,” Thranduil said. “They get along very well.”

    “Good thing, too. Imagine if we had a rivalry among our own offspring,” said Bard darkly.

    “No doubt something will come up if they are ever made to share a room.”

    Bard felt a drop of rain fall into the tresses of his hair. He sighed. “Kids, let’s go!”

    He collected his bearings and his children and kissed Thranduil goodbye. Thranduil countered this by smothering every inch of Bard’s face in kisses. He blushed furiously and hastened down the steps before he could embarrass himself.

 

    As an entirety, Bard noticed that time went a great deal faster than he was used to. He and Thranduil took it easy, and the days carried into weeks like they weren’t even days at all. Sometimes Thranduil would stay the night, but most of the time he wouldn’t, and when he did Bard never held any expectations for it. He preferred Thranduil’s company in his parlour when he wasn’t busy painting someone’s body, or when he went to the flower shop and tried to help make bouquets (he wasn’t very good at them).

    They were like teenagers again. They met up during their breaks for coffee and took long walks in the evening. It was quiet and honest and the realest thing Bard had come to understand lately. He caught himself thinking often of Thranduil’s unusually wide smile and of the freckles on his back when he glimpsed them beneath the sheets in the morning. Actually being able to call Thranduil _his_ was difficult to believe, but believe he did. He hardly had the imagination for something quite as blissful as this.

    Bain, Tilda and Sigrid were very excited that their da had a boyfriend, and they badgered him constantly about when Thranduil would move in with them.

    “He can’t very well leave his garden unattended. Who will look after it if he moves out?” said Bard reasonably.

    In truth, he hadn’t considered anything of the sort. Though their relationship was still in its early stages, there were still the adult expectations of the future pressed upon them. But Bard and Thranduil paid it no mind. They had both of them lost much of their early adulthood to family and responsibility. Now was not a time to consider their future, but rather appreciate what they had in the present.

    They went hiking on a nice Sunday that had managed to worms its way into the dreary autumn. They frequented the park and the cinema and spent long nights on the sofa by the fire. They had two weeks of kindness and goodness with each other. It was like being a family, Bard thought, but a proper family.

    Halloween came and went without much incident. Bard and Thranduil took the kids trick-or-treating and Thranduil refused very firmly to wear a costume, though Bard humoured Bain by cutting two holes in an old bed sheet to be a ghost.

    And then it was over. The trees were bare of leaves and the mornings were icy with frost. Bard drove his children back home to London where his ex-wife had left a note on the door saying she would be back at 2. Bard sighed and crumpled up the paper, fishing out his keys to find the one that opened his old residence.

    It was different to how he had left it three years ago. There were ugly, ornate vases and statues on glass tables and it was distastefully clean. The carpets had been pulled up and replaced with floorboards, which had been polished within an inch of their life. It smelled faintly of lavender and in the sitting room there was a large television where Bard’s piano used to sit.

    He hung around and made lunch while he waited for his ex-wife to return. Audrey came bustling through the door with the wind around 2:30, decked out in her best clothes and carrying lots of promotional-looking bags. She was a well-proportioned woman with a long nose and sharp jaw. She had hair like honey and a very important air about her that preceded her reputation in journalism.

    “Oh!” she said breathlessly, dumping everything in her hands on the floor. “You’re here.”

    “So are you – finally,” Bard muttered. He was livid at her tardiness.

    Audrey set him with a meaningful look. “I’m a working woman, Bard. I can’t be on top of everything.”

    “Not even your own kids, it seems.”

    “Don’t start this again.”

    “No, I will start this again, because you can’t ask me to drop them off at a certain time and then not be here for it. You’re lucky I actually take the time to look after our kids instead of swanning off to functions and meetings as soon as I have a hand free.”

    Audrey opened her mouth to start shouting, but at the sight of her kids running out of the sitting room to greet her, she closed it again and knelt down to embrace them.

    “Ma! Ma! Can we stay at da’s next holidays as well?” Sigrid beseeched. “We want to spend Christmas with Thranduil!”

    Bard’s heart swelled smugly at this, but he did not let it spread to his face. He kept his jaw set and his eyes firmly at his feet.

    “And who’s Thranduil?” said Audrey.

    Bard inhaled sharply and went quickly to reply with “just a friend,” but Bain bet him to it.

    “Da’s new boyfriend! He’s trans too, ma, just like me!”

    Audrey stood up, staring at Bard, who stared resolutely back at her. She was an intimidating woman at the best of times, but he refused to be riled by her glares. He had nothing to prove to her anymore.

    “Bard, this isn’t serious?” she said in disbelief, almost as if she were speaking to a child.

    “What’s it to you if it is?” Bard retorted.

    Audrey’s lips quivered with a smile, but not a kind one. “And here I thought you would get lonely living so rurally.”

    Bard rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Instead, he knelt down and opened his arms to receive a hug from Bain, Sigrid and Tilda. He always hated saying goodbye to them. Two weeks was always too long to be kept apart and two days was never enough to make amends for it. He inhaled the sweet smell of Sigrid’s hair and adjusted Tilda’s glasses and he ruffled Bain’s curls. Then, he stood up, shot Audrey a mutinous look, and left the house.

    But he heard the click of high heels coming down the pavement as he walked to his car. Turning around, Audrey was running towards him.

    “I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” she said, looking apologetic. “Is – is he nice?”

    Bard raised an eyebrow sceptically, but said, “Would you like to meet him?”

    “Well, I want to make sure my kids aren’t hanging out with a creep,” Audrey said.

    “What do you take me for?” said Bard.

    “It’s a joke! But, I mean, I want to be civil,” she clarified awkwardly.

    “That’s a first.”

    Audrey puffed up. “Shut up. Just… let me know what works for you,” she said.

    Bard smirked. “Okay. I’ll ask him.”

    “See you.”

    Bard got into the car and drove off, feeling quite perturbed. He was surprised that Audrey wanted to meet Thranduil. He hoped it was genuine interest and not some hair-brained scheme she was concocting. Not that she was the type, but Bard had learned not to expect anything of Audrey. It would be an amusing get-together, to say the least.

    Bard brought it up with Thranduil the next morning at the flower shop. Thranduil laughed, but there was a slightly forced edge to it.

    “Why does she want to meet me?”

    Bard shrugged. “I don’t know. I think she just wants to be friendly. She’s not exactly a people-person,” he said.

    “I thought you said she’s a journalist,” Thranduil said.

    “Journalism doesn’t require much personality input. When it comes to being herself, she practically shuts down. Communicating with people on a social level ruffles her feathers a bit,” said Bard.

    “Don’t tell me you sympathise?”

    “I do!” Bard insisted. “Be fair, I did marry the woman. It’s not like I never liked her.”

    “Okay, I’m game. I’d like to meet the woman who dared divorce you,” said Thranduil, sliding a rose into the bouquet he was making.

    Bard smiled half-heartedly. “You might not be so critical of her choices once you meet her,” he said.

    “I disapprove of how she is bringing up her children. Being a parent means you sacrifice your time no matter the cost. Children are not an accessory, yet she treats them as such. I still think she ought to hand custody over to you if she can’t so much as be home when it is required of her,” said Thranduil simply.

    “I’m not arguing with you, but her heart is in the right place. She’s a good person,” Bard reasoned.

    “Well, she has excellent taste in men, I’ll give her that.”

    Bard flushed. “Do – do you want to get lunch later?” he asked.

    Thranduil bit his lip. “Actually, I was hoping to schedule an appointment, if you have spots available today.”

    “An appointment?”

    “I’ve decided what tattoo I want.”

    Bard blinked. “Seriously? And you want me to do it?”

    Thranduil looked puzzled by this. “Why would I ask anyone else? It’s like when you give me my own flowers.”

    “Huh. Well, I don’t have anyone until three…”

    “I’ll get Haldir,” said Thranduil, and he disappeared upstairs.

    Bard felt nervous. After all his teasing about Thranduil’s lack of tattoos, he was suddenly very uneasy about changing that. What if he screwed it up? What if Thranduil didn’t like his work? Privileged though he felt, it was far too much pressure.

    Thranduil returned with Haldir and then followed Bard down the street to the tattoo parlour.

    “Normally, I’d workshop a piece with someone before actually doing it…” said Bard, half wishing to delay this now that it was fast becoming a reality.

    “It’s only something small,” said Thranduil. He paused, studying Bard. “You don’t want to do it.”

    It wasn’t a question.

    “I do!” said Bard, a little too quickly. “It’s just… I don’t want to fuck it up.”

    Thranduil smiled loosely. “You won’t. And besides, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with anyone else doing it,” he confessed.

    “Oh.”

    They walked on in silence, passing a few people wandering in and out of shops. A few neighbours stared at them, particularly at Thranduil, but no one said anything. Bard noticed how little he spoke to anyone these days. He showed his face, but didn’t open his mouth. Bard didn’t blame him. What could Thranduil possibly say to these people?

    Celebrían had opened the parlour. It was her second-last day before she took her maternity leave and she was cramming her last few appointments, already working on someone’s back. She had dyed her hair over the weekend, and it was a soft strawberry blonde, piled high into a knot on the top of her head. She waved as Thranduil and Bard entered.

    “Are you finally getting inked, Thranduil?” she said.

    Thranduil returned her grin breathlessly. “Yeah.”

    Bard ushered him over to a desk at the back, ignoring his skittering heart. He took his glasses from the neck of his shirt, grabbed a pencil and paper, and sat down, looking expectedly at Thranduil.

    “Are you going to draw it?” Thranduil asked.

    Bard sighed. “I’m an artist, not perfect.”

    Thranduil sat. “I want a leaf. With Legolas’ birthday on it. Is that cheesy?”

    Bard smiled, putting his glasses on. “No, I like it. I have my kids' birthdays too. Here, let’s see…”

    He put his pencil to the paper and started drawing a leaf. But Thranduil said he wanted something more unique, so Bard riffled through some old designs for inspiration and together they trialled some different patterns for the better part of an hour. Once that was done, Bard asked for Legolas’ birthday, and wrote it on the side of the leaf.

    “Are you sure?” he asked, removing his glasses and admiring his handiwork from a distance.

    “Yes.”

    “Okay, where do you want it?”

    “Here.” Thranduil pointed to the small of his left collarbone.

    “You’ll have to take off your shirt for that,” said Bard.

    “I know.”

    And then Bard understood why Thranduil wouldn’t feel comfortable with anyone else.

    “Ready?” He gestured to an empty recliner. Thranduil took a deep breath, peeled off his shirt, and lay back. Celebrían looked over at them and smiled, and he smiled back, and Bard felt his heart jump several inches.

    He got everything ready, finding his favourite gun and selecting a pot of black ink. Thranduil kept rubbing his arms every now and then, as though he were cold, but couldn’t be because the heater was on. Bard kissed his cheek reassuringly and then set to work, wishing he didn’t have to wear gloves because he wanted so desperately to touch Thranduil’s skin with his own fingers.

    But it was nice all the same. Thranduil eventually began to relax and they talked through the more painful parts of the tattoo. He kept complaining that it hurt more than he had been led to believe, and Bard had the nerve to tease him for it.

    “How have you suffered through so many of them?” Thranduil whined.

    “You get used to it, after a while,” Bard told him patiently, dipping the gun into the ink pot. “Besides, it’s worth it.”

    “How many tattoos do you actually have?”

    “I lost count after the sixty-third,” Bard said. He thought for a moment, counting his most recent ones. “I think I have seventy.”

    “That’s a lot.”

    “Oh, seventy-one. But we don’t talk about seventy-one.”

    “What’s seventy-one?” Thranduil said, raising an eyebrow.

    Bard forced himself not to blush. “Nothing I can say with a straight face.”

    “Where is it? Can I see?”

    “It’s not in a place I can show you, either.”

    Bard felt Thranduil tense under his hand for a moment, as though realising something.

    “Do you have a tattoo on your arse?”

    “I lost a bet,” Bard said in exasperation.

    He had to stop painting so that Thranduil could laugh. His large hands covered his face as he doubled-over in hysterics. Bard smirked despite himself. It _was_ quite funny.

    When Thranduil’s laughter had subsided, Bard continued inking him in silence, concentrating on the finer lines of the piece. He was very aware that Thranduil was watching him, but tried not to dwell on it.

    “You look good in glasses,” Thranduil said after almost half an hour of silence.

    Bard looked up. Their faces were very close. He smiled crookedly. “I think I look like a right berk,” he said genially.

    Thranduil inclined his head and kissed Bard on the nose. “You are very handsome,” he said.

    Bard went completely pink and bowed his head over the tattoo again, his heart beating very quickly. Thranduil was a litany of beautiful things – his hands, his eyes, his collarbones – yet he thought Bard was handsome.

    Thranduil was different, Bard realised. Two weeks on and, true, he was still his salty, anxious self. Yet he smiled more. He stood taller. There was a softness in him that had once been only for Legolas, but extended now to others. Bard dared to wonder if it was he who was responsible for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be going back to Thranduil's perspective (finally), which I'm super excited about because Things are finally going to start happening. That's why I kind of skimmed over the two-week holiday because I didn't want to spend time waffling with domesticity. But what Things, you ask? Good Things. I have a zero-angst policy about this fic.   
> I can't believe I'm 11 chapters in, though! I never thought this nonsense would get so long, but I'm very glad it has. I just wanted to leave a thank you to everyone who has read, and continued to read what is my favourite fic to date. This story means a lot to me, as I hope it means a lot to you (I speak especially to my trans buddies), and I thank you again and again for leaving comments and kudos, because there is nothing better than refreshing my emails to so many lovely words.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ticket stubs, first time's, and the miracle of childbirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I'm so sorry for falling off the radar (I do that so often) but I get so caught up with new fics that I all but abandon others. But this is my favourite and I've been meaning to clean up this chapter for months, so here it finally is.  
> I also [made a playlist](https://8tracks.com/tristanackerly/eden) for this fic, which I have been meaning to do for ages, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
>  
> 
> **This chapter also comes with a Trigger Warning for a hospital, about halfway through. Nothing bad happens, I promise.**

“It has just occurred to me that we haven’t been on a date,” said Thranduil.

    He leaned forward on the dining table in the sunny kitchen, flexing his long fingers anxiously and examining his cuticles in a way he hoped implied to Bard just a vague afterthought of an afterthought. Truthfully, he had been meaning to bring this up for days now, but hadn’t been able to find the courage. However, Bard’s face was currently hidden behind a newspaper, so Thranduil decided to use this as an opportunity to avoid embarrassing himself.

    Bard lowered the newspaper an inch to reveal his eyes, frowning slightly. “We get coffee together all the time,” he said.

    Thranduil gave him a meaningful look. “You know that doesn’t really count.”

    “Well, we haven’t exactly had the chance with my kids in town. Do you want to do something?” Bard enthused, folding the newspaper neatly and taking off his glasses.

    “It’s why I’m bringing it up,” Thranduil said.

    Bard’s fingers reached out to play with Thranduil’s hair. “I would have suggested something ages ago, but I don’t know what kind of date you would want to go on. It seems too frivolous for you.”

    Thranduil sat up, blushing furiously. “I – well –”

    “What?”

    “I’ve never been on a date before,” he said in one breath. "I mean, I have, but not a proper one. Not a nice one with someone I actually like."

    Bard looked surprised. “Didn’t Elrond ever take you on one?” he asked.

    “It wasn’t really something we did. We were just kids – what kind of dates could we go on?” Thranduil paused, watching Bard for a moment. He seemed to be thinking. “What do you want to do?”

    “You want me to decide? Geez, Thranduil, I don’t know…”

    Thranduil slumped forward on the table again. He picked up the newspaper, which was still folded on the page Bard had been reading. Surely there would be something interesting on in the city. Bard had been reading the opinions section, so Thranduil riffled a few more pages ahead.

    “How about this?” he suggested, pointing to an advertisement.

    Bard squinted at the paper, cramming his glasses back on. Thranduil chuckled at him.

    “An art exhibition?”

    “You like art.”

    “How do you know I haven’t already been?” said Bard, flashing a cheeky grin.

    “You would have told me,” said Thranduil.

    “Alright. But it has to be during the week because I have the kids this weekend.”

    “Oh, yeah. Am I still meeting Audrey, then?”

    “I’m afraid so. She said she’ll stay for dinner on Friday.”

    Thranduil sighed into the table. He felt Bard’s hands find his hair again, running his fingers through it. Thranduil closed his eyes, indulging in the sensation; one he had been long deprived of.

    It was, in Thranduil’s opinion, nothing less than disgraceful that he had put this off for so long. Not the date, but Bard. Who had he been fooling, in the end, by trying to keep their relationship strictly platonic? An entire lifetime had passed since he, Thranduil, had felt quite so warmly towards another person. And Bard was honest and alive and he sparked something in Thranduil he thought he’d never feel again.

   

    Haldir was rather begrudging about babysitting Legolas _again_ , but he insisted as always how very pleased he was that Thranduil was no longer a shut-in now that he had Bard to preoccupy himself with. They left Haldir and Legolas squabbling in the shop on Thursday afternoon, departing for their first, proper date. Thranduil was very nervous, it turned out. While it had been his idea, he was quickly becoming apprehensive, but was equally excited to be somewhere they both felt comfortable. Bard liked art, and Thranduil liked the echoing atmosphere of art galleries, where people were silent and respectful and did not bother him with their loud voices and opinions.

    Bard’s motorcycle was getting serviced, so they took his car up to the art gallery in Nottingham. They paid for their own admission tickets and checked in their coats.

    “Do you think they go through your stuff while you’re browsing?” Thranduil asked, glancing back at the cloakroom where a surly-looking woman was draping their clothes on hangers.

    “Probably, but it’s not like we wouldn’t notice if they stole something. Why, do you have something incriminating in your pockets?” Bard teased.

    Thranduil bristled. “I certainly don’t! Just… a lot of toffees.”

    Bard quirked an eyebrow, clearing holding in laughter. “Toffees?”

    “They keep Legolas quiet when I’m at the store,” said Thranduil a shrug.

    He and Bard handed over their tickets to the man at the gallery entrance and went inside.

    “Are you going to keep your ticket stub?” Bard asked.

    Thranduil was already in the process of crumpling his up to put in his pocket. Bard reached out and took it, smoothing it against his leg and sliding it into his wallet with his own. Thranduil stared for a moment. He wasn’t startled by Bard’s sentimentality, but rather affronted by his own lack of such. He had never thought to keep things like ticket stubs or receipts, but it was clear that Bard was hyperaware of objects that meant something to him. Absently, Thranduil recalled Arathorn’s drawing on a napkin from that night at the pub sitting on Bard’s desk, and of the birthday card Haldir and Thranduil had written him back in September. Thranduil had never paid it much mind until just now, but he was admittedly enamoured by this softness Bard possessed towards his friends.

    But Bard was not thinking of sentimentality; he was already gazing at the first piece of art mounted on the wall, his hands clasped behind his back as though out of respect. Thranduil jogged over quietly to stand beside him. Bard smiled.

    “You know, I never wanted to be an artist growing up,” he said.

    “What did you want to be?” asked Thranduil.

    “A fisherman.”

    Thranduil coughed down a laugh. “Why a fisherman?”

    “I liked fishing,” said Bard as-a-matter-of-factly.

    “Okay, so how did you become a tattoo artist?”

    They moved onto the next picture, Bard silent for a moment. “I liked drawing, and after a while I realised I wasn’t totally terrible at it. When I got my first tattoo, it sort of spiralled from there.”

    “I’ve never really seen your artwork,” Thranduil mused. “Other than the ones from your art show.”

    “They’re scattered about my house,” said Bard. “I’m trying to put together a new collection for the next showcase we’re doing in January.”

    “What’s it about?” Thranduil wondered.

    Bard smiled. “You’ll see.”

    Thranduil pouted and elbowed Bard reprovingly, but did not press the subject, because he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. They drifted among the art in the gallery, heads tilting and shoulders brushing, their voices only whispers carried across to one another as they shared thoughts. Bard had a lot to say on all the pieces, and Thranduil was all too happy to listen. He enjoyed watching Bard’s profile while he spoke.

    They wandered for hours, not wishing to leave the warm, peaceful confinement of the gallery. But as six o’clock drew nearer, they were drawn out by hunger and closing time. They collected their coats from the cloakroom and went into the blistering cold outside where the sun had set and the neon lights of shops and restaurants had lit. Thranduil rummaged through his pockets, extracting two toffees.

    “Where are we eating?” he said, handing one to Bard.

    Bard didn’t respond for a moment, as he was busy wrapping his scarf three times around his neck to deem himself prepared for the cold.

    “Mmphmhmppmhmhmh,” he said through the folds of fabric.

    “I know, the spoken word truly _is_ a marvel in modern society,” Thranduil joked.

    Bard lowered his scarf, grinning toothily. Did this man ever stop smiling?

    “There’s a nice Indian place a few blocks away,” he said.

    Thranduil nodded and they set off, walking briskly to shake off the cold.

    “So, how would you say our date is going so far?” said Bard conversationally, unwrapping his toffee.

    “Is it customary for a couple to rate their outings?” said Thranduil.

    “No, but since it’s your first time…”

    Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I have nothing to compare it to, Bard.”

    “Point taken. But are you enjoying yourself?”

    “Am I not projecting my enthusiasm well enough? I can smile wider, if you like, but I’m worried this cold will freeze it in place.”

    “You have to stop with the snarky comments,” Bard huffed.

    “You make it too easy,” said Thranduil. Then, at the meaningful look Bard shot him, he added, “I’m having a wonderful time. I give this date a ten.”

    Bard grinned again and pointed towards the approaching street “It’s down here.”

    They were just turning the corner when Thranduil suddenly collided with something soft and strangely round, causing him to cry out an apology before he could even see who it was he had bumped into.

    “Oh, hello, Celebrían,” said Bard.

    Celebrían was enormous; truly a sight to be behold, even by pregnancy standards. Thranduil did not envy her burden of twins in that belly.

    “Hello,” she said breathlessly, brushing down her coat, which was left unbuttoned due to the fact that it couldn’t possibly be done up over such size.

    “You’re coming along,” said Thranduil, still quite stunned at the sight of her.

    “Oh, yes. I’m absolutely exhausted, but I had to get out of the house. I’m getting the worst cramps and I thought a walk would…” she trailed off, blushing slightly when she realised she was talking to two men.

    But Thranduil frowned. “Cramps?”

    “Yeah, but I think walking is only making them worse.” Celebrían smiled weakly, rubbing her back.

    Thranduil said nothing as he thought very hard about what he was currently witnessing. He looked at Bard pointedly, and Bard looked at Celebrían, and all three of them came to the same conclusion.

    “Oh no,” Celebrían whispered.

    Thranduil took a deep breath. “Has your water–”

    He was cut short when Celebrían’s expression became suddenly resolute with shock as her body stiffened. She opened and closed her mouth several times and then, very slowly, she nodded.

    “I guess that answers that,” said Thranduil promptly.

    He grabbed Celebrían by the arm and began to march her back up the street he and Bard had come from. She hobbled in his wake, trembling.

    “Where are we going?” she squeaked.

    “To the hospital,” said Thranduil calmly. “Bard, can you run ahead and get the car?”

    Bard, who had barely uttered a word since saying hello, seemed to have been brought back to the present at the sound of his name. He dashed ahead, already pulling out his car keys.

    “Is Elrond at home?” Thranduil asked, tightening his grip around Celebrían’s arm because it felt like she was going to collapse. She was very pale.

    She shook her head. “He’s in London until the weekend.”

    “That was foolish of him,” Thranduil said icily.

    “It was an emergency. And I’m not – I wasn’t due – not until next week…” Celebrían stopped dead, gasping in pain.

    Thranduil relaxed his grip. “It’s okay.”

    “But – but.”

    “You’re only a week early; nothing bad will happen,” he said, urging her to keep moving.

    “How do you know?” Celebrían said.

    “I’ve had a baby, too,” Thranduil reminded her.

    Celebrían was silent. Thranduil saw Bard’s car coming down the road and they waited.

    “Was it this scary for you, as well?”

    Thranduil studied Celebrían. She looked as frightened as Thranduil had felt when he had been in her position. And he didn’t blame her; carrying a baby could be a fine thing until it was time to have it, and then all sorts of scary thoughts liked to make themselves known.

    “Yes,” he replied truthfully.

    Bard stopped the car and they got in quickly. Thranduil didn’t bother with his seatbelt and neither did Celebrían. Her breaths were coming in very shallow.

    “I can’t –” she said hoarsely.

    Thranduil watched her, unsure of what to say. He knew that fear; he knew she didn’t feel ready. But she was. She had to be.

    “Have you thought of names yet?” he asked her.

    Celebrían gave him a withering look and Thranduil was afraid she might actually hit him. But as a few seconds of quiet passed, she thought, and then smiled briefly.

    “Elladan and Elrohir,” she said.

    “Those are good names,” Thranduil affirmed.

    Another contraction came through and Celebrían braced herself against the seat. When it passed, she slumped back.

    “I didn’t think it would be this hard,” she said softly.

    “No one tells you how hard it is. But it’s worth it, in the end.”

    “Do you think it’s strange? The father of your child is the father of mine.”

    Thranduil did not break eye contact with Celebrían. “It’s fucking ridiculous,” he said, his lips pulling at a smile.

    Bard snorted in the driver’s seat. They were coming up to the hospital now. He pulled into the emergency foyer and went to park once Thranduil and Celebrían extricated themselves. She had calmed down enough to walk without assistance, but was still shaking and sniffling. The doctors took her through to a ward.

    “Can’t you come with me?” Celebrían said, gripping Thranduil’s sleeve while an impatient doctor tried to coax her into a wheelchair.

    Thranduil stared at her incredulously. He didn’t think she would want him, of all people, to be with her, but he nodded and hurried after the doctors through to the maternity ward.

    They closed Celebrían off in a room and Thranduil pulled out his phone, scrolling quickly for Elrond’s phone number. He pressed call and held the phone to his ear, watching the shadows of Celebrían and the doctors behind the frosted glass of the door.

    “Hello?” Elrond answered on the fourth ring.

    “How are you maintaining your relationship status?” Thranduil said, his lips tugging at another smile.

    “What?”

    “The miracle of childbirth, right?”

    There was a thud of silence.

    “You’re fucking joking,” Elrond said.

    “You better get on the next train.”

    “How much time do I have?” Elrond sounded exasperated.

    “Hard to say; a few hours, at least. If you leave now, you’ll make it in time to meet your new family,” said Thranduil.

    “You’ll stay with her, won’t you?”

    “She has insisted.”

    “Good. She really likes you, you know. She trusts you,” Elrond said.

    Thranduil didn’t say anything.

    “There’s a train leaving in an hour. I’ll see you soon.”

    “Bye.”

    Thranduil put his phone away and sat down on one of the plastic chairs just as Bard was coming up the corridor, looking a little harassed.

    “The parking rates here are unbelievable,” he said, glancing to the room where Celebrían was. “Well… so much for our date.”

    “What’s more exciting than watching your best friend have a baby?” Thranduil quipped. “I’m starved, though.”

    Bard nodded. “Me too. Do you want some food?”

    “Is the cafeteria open at this time?”

    “No, but I’ll get us crisps and coffee from the vending machines.”

    “Nutritious,” said Thranduil, and they shared a kiss before Bard left again.

    “You can come in now,” said a nurse, poking her head through the door.

    Thranduil stood and entered the room. Celebrían was sitting on the cot, wearing a hospital gown and staring at her toes. Her hands did not leave her belly as Thranduil sat down on the chair beside the bed and patted her leg.

    “What now?” she said.

    “We wait. I called Elrond; he’s on his way.”

    “Oh. Good.” Celebrían smiled brightly, though it made a few tears tumble down her cheeks. “You’re a really good friend, Thranduil.”

    Thranduil quirked a smile of his own, but didn’t really feel it. He couldn’t believe it was up to him to take care of such a fiasco. He didn’t mind, of course, as he was very fond of Celebrían. But she was everything Thranduil had failed to be for Elrond, and so much more, though he did try very hard not to think of it that way (gender variables and all that). Yet, they had both of them followed similar paths, had completely different results, and then somehow all come together. It was all just a matter of circumstance; if Celebrían had never met Bard, she would have never met Elrond, and if Thranduil had not met Bard either, he wouldn’t have reconciled his past. It was thanks to Bard, really, that they were all friends, and that Thranduil wasn’t fleeing at the thought of his son’s brothers being born while he was present.

    Bard came in then, carrying crisp packets and cups of coffee.

    “What were you two doing in the city, anyway?” Celebrían asked, talking through another contraction with some difficulty.

    “We went to the art gallery,” said Bard, smiling at Thranduil and handing him coffee.

    “That’s lovely. Did I ruin your evening?” Celebrían said.

    “No, it’s still a good evening. We can get Indian food later,” said Thranduil.

    They kept Celebrían talking as much as possible to distract her from the pain and anxiety she was feeling. Every thought that came to mind was brought up to fill in the silence, and when that failed too, they played some games on scraps of paper and Thranduil showed them how to make paper stars. He even pocketed a few, for sentiment’s sake.

    There were a few tense moments when Celebrían thought it was finally time, but the doctors continued to tell her she wasn’t dilated enough, which was a relief because Elrond still hadn’t arrived and she was quite determined to have him present at the birth of their children.

    It was very late when he finally made it to the hospital, and he wasn’t alone. Another man was with him, almost identical in appearance save for a well-groomed beard and no glasses.

    “Elros!” Celebrían cried. “What are you doing here?”

    “Fulfilling my duty as uncle,” said Elros, hugging Celebrían tightly.  

    Thranduil fell back into the shadows by the door, staring at Elros.

    How many years had it been? Thranduil still remembered him as the rough-and-tumble teenage boy who had invited Thranduil to a party and introduced him to his brother. Elros was none of these things now; he was gentle and good-natured and no longer a kid, but a fully-grown man that Thranduil admittedly would not have recognised walking down the street. And he wondered if Elros would think the same of him.

    “I’ve never met Elrond’s brother,” said Bard, joining Thranduil against the wall. “Bless him for the beard, or else I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.”

    “This is a nightmare. Avoiding all my old friends is why I moved to the back-end of nowhere, and here they are finding me again. I nearly fucked that guy, Bard,” said Thranduil as he hastily snapped a hair-tie off his wrist and piled his hair up into a bun, hoping to obscure his defining feature.

    Bard choked on his coffee. “Do you want to leave?”

    Thranduil shrugged. “I think Celebrían wants me to stay.”

    “Alright. If you’re staying, I’m staying,” said Bard.

    “Damn right, you’re staying. You’re my ride home.”

     “– that’s Bard and Thranduil,” said Elrond, interrupting the quiet conversation between the two men as he pointed them out to Elros.

    Elros went over and shook hands with Bard and Thranduil, the latter so stiff with nerves he barely moved his arm at all. Elros didn’t seem to recognise him, which was a relief. If Thranduil could avoid being remembered as Elrond’s ex-girlfriend, he would.

    “Nice to finally meet you, Bard. Elrond’s told me a lot about you,” Elros said.

    “Same to you,” said Bard.

    Thranduil tried, somehow, to make himself less noticeable. Elros smiled at him politely, and then turned back to Celebrían and Elrond. Thranduil exhaled shakily.

    “There’s less tension on _Keeping up with the Kardashian’s_ ,” Bard whispered.

    “Now who’s being snarky?” Thranduil snapped.

    Bard and Thranduil hovered uncertainly as they played the waiting game for the twins to arrive. Near to midnight, Celebrían’s mother and father showed up, so Thranduil went outside for some fresh air, unable to stand the smell of the hospital for much longer even if it was freezing outside. Elrond joined him, looking tired and a little sheepish.

    “This is weird,” he said.

    “Why?”

    “You’re here, my ex, with my wife while she’s in labour.”

    “I guess that is pretty weird,” said Thranduil dully.

    Elrond shifted on his feet for a few seconds, obviously grappling with some internal battle Thranduil couldn’t be bothered being concerned with.

    “I’m sorry it wasn’t the same for you,” Elrond finally managed.

    Thranduil glanced at him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

    “I mean… it probably wasn’t like this for you, was it? Celebrían has all her friends and family with her… and she’s got me. But you… who did you have?”

    Thranduil felt a little stunned. His heart seemed to be twisting inside his chest.

    “I had my mum,” he said quietly.

    “How is she?”

    “She died.”

    “Fuck,” Elrond muttered. “Thranduil… I’m so sorry –”

    “Please,” Thranduil cut in. “I don’t want your sympathy.”

    “It’s not sympathy; it’s an apology. Life – life hasn’t been kind to you, and I know I’m partly to blame for that, so I’m sorry. I know you need me to be sorry,” Elrond said.

    Thranduil rounded on him. “I don’t want your shitty apology if you don’t mean it.”

    Elrond looked taken aback. “Of course I mean it! Ever since I put all the pieces of our past together, I’ve realised how rough you must have had it. It can’t have been easy, running away and raising a kid on your own. I personally don’t think it’s fair.”

    Thranduil sighed, leaning against the wall of the hospital and staring out across the quiet road ahead. The lights of the shops had been switched off, and only the occasional car drove passed.

    “I’ve spent so many years wishing things had gone differently,” he said. “Wishing that everything had been easier and more put-together. But I just kept moving forward, no matter how much I was looking back, because all I got out of wishing was heartache. It was much easier to look forward, even if there wasn’t much there. Having a kid will do that to you, just you wait.”

    Elrond ran a hand over his face. “It doesn’t really feel like I’m already a father. It feels like the first time for me.”

    “It _is_ the first time,” Thranduil corrected him coldly. “Being the other half to the biological equation of a child does not make you a father. Those twins in there? They’re your family. Not me and not Legolas.”

    “I _know_ that, I just meant –”

    “Forget it.”

    Thranduil shoved his hands into his pockets and went back inside, his blood boiling. He wasn’t angry or upset, but simply riled and heated, having not known until now how much he had wanted to say that to Elrond. Because, no, it wasn’t fair. Thranduil was perfectly aware of the cards life had dealt him and how depressing they probably were to look at from an outsider’s perspective, but that didn’t mean he was unhappy. He wasn't going to feed off other people's sympathy for him.

    As he walked back down the corridor to Celebrían’s ward, Thranduil spotted Bard sitting on one of the chairs outside, dozing with his head against the wall on a slight angle. And how could Thranduil possibly be unhappy when there was so much goodness still in store for him? Whenever he saw Bard, he remembered why he looked forward.

    He sat beside Bard and kissed him on the temple. Bard stirred, his eyes fluttering open and squinting against the harsh hospital light.

    “What time is it?” he asked, cracking his neck.

    “Eleven-thirty,” said Thranduil.

    Bard groaned. “None of my kids took this long to be born,” he mumbled.

    Thranduil laughed. “Who was the latest?”

    Bard hummed thoughtfully. “Bain. He was born at two in the morning. I was so young and tired, and I nearly wasn’t there because I wasn’t living with Audrey yet. Picture this; an eighteen year-old Bard, sleeping peacefully in his single bed with Star Wars covers, when the phone rings in the kitchen at one in the morning and Audrey’s mum is on the other line dealing the talking-to of a lifetime. God, that woman could lecture my ear off. She hated me.”

    “Well, you did get her teenage daughter pregnant,” Thranduil reasoned.

    “The condom had a hole in it,” Bard pouted.

    Thranduil laughed again, burying his face in his hands. Bard sighed dramatically.

    “It was worth it.”

    Thranduil smiled. “Yeah, it was.”

    It was past midnight when Celebrían was deemed ready to give birth. Elros and Bard both left the room, but Elrond, Celebrían's mother and Thranduil stayed (the latter only because Celebrían begged him to). It was stressful to witness, if Thranduil was totally honestly, but Celebrían came through all right, and so did two, healthy baby boys.

    “Don’t tell Celebrían I said this, but I am so glad I won’t be having any more kids,” Thranduil said to Bard as the two of them watched Elrond and Celebrían cooing over bundles of blankets in each of their arms.

    “If we ever got married, my kids would become your kids,” Bard pointed out.

    “It’s just pregnancy part I’m most concerned with. I dodged a serious bullet there,” Thranduil said sagely.

    “Could you, though, if you wanted to?” Bard asked hesitantly.

    Thranduil frowned. “Yes… but it would mess with my hormones terribly. Anyway, isn’t four enough?”

    Bard chuckled. “I was just wondering.”

    “Do you want to head home?”

    “God, yes.”

    They said their goodbyes to Elrond, Elros and Celebrían, all of whom thanked them over and over for staying. They got into the car and drove back to Thranduil’s house in a daze, Thranduil too tired to pay attention to anything except the dark trees along the road, which blurred grey and black in the moonlight.

    “That was a long date,” he yawned, getting out of the car when they finally arrived back at the flower shop.

    “What’s your overall rating?” said Bard, shutting the door on his side.

    “Seven? The lack of Indian food kind of put a damper on things,” Thranduil said, fishing out his keys.

    “I agree.”

    Bard walked him up to the front door, but did not go in.

    “Aren’t you coming?” Thranduil asked.

    Bard raised an eyebrow. “You want me to stay?”

    Thranduil nodded earnestly and grabbed Bard by his shirt, dragging him into the dark house. All was quiet and they tiptoed to Thranduil’s room, falling into the bed with sighs of relief. Bard rolled over and buried his face into Thranduil’s chest.

    “You’re sheets are so soft,” he mumbled, and then he fell asleep.

    Thranduil lay awake for some time, watching the moonlight filter across the bed through the gap in the curtains. Very carefully, he stretched out an arm over Bard’s head and retrieved from the bedside table the pressed flower Bard had given him. It was a little dusty, because he hadn’t touched it in a while, so he wiped the dust off and angled it towards the light. Thranduil wondered at its significance; at the sentimentality of it; at the irrefutable importance he held for it. He supposed this was what Bard meant by keeping ticket stubs. Perhaps there was some point, after all, in clinging to these things for sentiment’s sake. Thranduil remembered the taste of the food he had been eating when Haldir had handed the flower to him, and of the tight compression in his chest he had felt.

    He set the flower aside and adjusted his position in the bed, crooking his arm around Bard’s head and curling his fingers down to play with his hair. Thranduil fell asleep thinking about how much kinder he felt because of Bard.


End file.
